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BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 


®ttjer 


BY 


ELIZA  ORNE  WHITE 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
IKU'iiHTOX,    MIKFI.IX   AXD   COMI'ANV 

(Cbe  fitocrsibc  press,  Cambnb0c 

1897 


COPYRIGHT  1897   BY  ELIZA  OKNE  WHITE 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


TO 

MY  FATHER 


CONTENTS 

FAOB 

A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 1 

COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 51 

A  BISMARCK  DINNER 102 

A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 119 

A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 142 

THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 190 

THE  FATTED  CALF 217 

Two  AUTHORS 248 

"Commonplace  Carrie"  and  "AHamerton  Type- 
Writer  ' '  are  reprinted  from  The  New  England  Maga- 
zine, and  "  The  Fatted  Calf "  from  Harper's  Bazar, 
by  permission  of  the  publishers. 


A   BROWNING   COURTSHIP 

MAY  25.  I  am  twenty  years  old  to- 
day !  I  used  to  think  that  the  first  fresh 
bloom  of  one's  youth  was  over  at  twenty ; 
but  I  have  reached  that  advanced  period 
without  even  beginning  to  have  any  fun. 
I  don't  see  what  use  there  is  in  my  being 
young  and  pretty,  when  there  is  nobody 
any  more  exciting  than  Miss  Niles  to  tell 
me  that  I  am  so.  I  wish  I  knew  some 
young  men  !  I  am  fully  aware  how  heter- 
odox this  sentiment  is  considered,  but  I 
repeat  it  boldly,  and  even  underline  it,  — 
/  should  like  to  know  some  interesting 
men  ! 

Just  at  this  point  mamma  called  to  me 
from  below,  "  May,  dear,  don't  you  want 
to  cut  the  asparagus  for  me  ?  "  In  order 
to  live  up  to  the  standard  of  truth  that  my 
mother  advocates,  I  should  have  replied 
promptly,  "No,  dear,  I  don't;"  but  I 
1 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

have  all  my  life  disguised  my  real  senti- 
ments beneath  a  veil  of  apparent  cheerful- 
ness and  amiability ;  so  I  took  the  basket 
and  knife,  and  descended  to  the  garden. 
Mamma  little  knows  how  rebellious  I  am 
at  heart,  and  how  I  hate  this  dull,  quiet 
life.  I  should  like  to  know  whether  the 
society  in  all  small  New  England  towns 
consists  chiefly  of  maiden  ladies,  of  all 
varieties  and  ages.  The  Northbridge 
maiden  ladies  are  very  nice,  but  they  all 
have  a  more  or  less  resigned  expression. 
I  wonder  at  what  period  they  definitely 
gave  up  the  hope  of  knowing  any  inter- 
esting men. 

Miss  Niles  was  in  her  garden  cutting 
asparagus,  too.  She  bobbed  her  long  pale 
face  forward,  so  that  she  could  see  me 
through  the  hole  in  the  hedge.  She  looks 
queerer  than  ever  since  she  has  taken  to 
wearing  that  green  sun-bonnet ;  but  she 
is  so  good  that  I  ought  not  to  make  fun 
of  her. 

"  Good-morning,  May,"  she  said  in  her 

slow,  sentimental  way.     "  How  fresh  and 

beautiful   you   look,  and   like  the  sweet 

month  for  which  you  are  named !     Do  you 

2 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

remember  those  lines  of  Browning  ?  "  and 
she  began  a  quotation,  brandishing  the 
asparagus  knife  in  the  air. 

I  never  remember  any  poetry,  and 
Browning  is  my  especial  aversion,  but 
I  smiled  and  said,  "  How  lovely ! "  in 
the  proper  places. 

"  I  am  glad  you  care  so  intensely  for 
Browning,  dearest  May,"  Miss  Niles  said  ; 
"  you  are  a  great  satisfaction  to  my  soul. 
You  too  feel  the  charm  and  depth  of 
meaning  in  his  lightest  words.  I  recol- 
lect how  deeply  you  enjoyed  '  Childe  Ro- 
land '  and  '  Paracelsus,'  and  I  am  going  to 
read  you  '  The  Red  Cotton  Night-Cap 
Country.'  ' 

I  contrived  to  hide  the  feelings  caused 
by  this  announcement,  and  said  politely, 
"  You  are  very  kind,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
to  hear  anything  that  you  choose  to  read, 
only  —  I  don't  think  I  wholly  understand 
Browning  yet." 

"No  one  comprehends  him  at  first, 
dear ;  the  knowledge  comes  later,  after 
much  hard  work  and  perseverance,  like  — 
—  the  love  of  olives." 

Miss  Niles  never  knows  how  she  is 
3 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

going  to  end  a  sentence  when  she  begins 
it,  and  the  result  is  sometimes  startling. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  we 
both  cut  asparagus  assiduously,  and  then 
she  began  again  :  — 

"  You  have  such  a  true  appreciation  of 
the  spirit  of  Browning's  poetry  that  we 
have  voted  you  into  our  club,  although 
you  are  so  much  younger  than  the  other 
members.  Think  what  an  honor!  " 

Just  then  I  could  not  but  admit  that 
there  was  something  to  be  said  on  the  side 
of  those  persons  who  advocate  perfect 
truth  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  but  it 
was  too  late  to  retreat.  Had  n't  I  sat  for 
the  whole  of  a  long  spring  afternoon,  in 
apparent  rapt  contemplation,  as  she  read 
me  page  after  page,  each  more  incompre- 
hensible than  the  last ;  while  my  thoughts 
refused  to  conform  to  any  effort  of  my 
will,  but  flew  vaguely  from  one  inappro- 
priate theme  to  another  ?  And  all  be- 
cause I  could  not  bear  to  hurt  her  feel- 
ings ! 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  our  won- 
derful good  fortune,"  said  Miss  Niles, 
leaning  forward,  and  once  more  peeping 
4 


A   BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

at  me  through  the  hedge.  "  Paul  Brown, 
the  distinguished  P.  K.  Brown,  who  is 
such  a  great  Browning  scholar,  is  coming 
to  spend  the  summer  here,  and  we  hope 
to  persuade  him  to  conduct  our  study 
class." 

"  Indeed  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  How  de- 
lightful !  "  and  my  unworthy  mind  imme- 
diately busied  itself  in  conjectures  as  to 
the  age  of  Mr.  P.  K.  Brown. 

"  He  is  a  young  man  of  great  talent," 
Miss  Niles  continued.  "  They  say  the 
amount  of  knowledge  that  he  has  on  the 
subject  is  really  wonderful,  considering 
that  he  is  n't  more  than  four  or  five  and 
twenty.  There  comes  the  butter-man ; 
how  provoking!  But  we  will  talk  this 
matter  over  another  time." 

Miss  Niles  kissed  her  hand  to  me  and 
departed,  trailing  her  black  wrapper 
along  the  gravel  path,  and  making  the 
transition  from  Browning  to  butter  with 
preternatural  dignity. 

I  was  left  to  my  own  reflections,  which 
were  of  a  mixed  nature. 

When  the  gods  grant  the  requests  of 
mortals,  do  they  always  hamper  the  ful- 
5 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

fillment  with  some  condition  that  sends 
leanness  into  their  souls  ?  I  asked  myself. 
Only  ten  minutes  before  I  had  been  wish- 
ing that  I  knew  some  young  men,  and 
now  this  P.  K.  Brown,  of  four  or  five  and 
twenty,  was  about  to  descend  among  us, 
but,  as  if  by  the  irony  of  fate,  devoted  to 
his  odious  Browning,  and  consequently 
talking  and  thinking  in  a  jargon  with 
which  I  have  not  the  smallest  sympathy. 

May  30.  I  have  seen  him  go  by  the 
house,  and  he  has  one  of  the  most  charm- 
ing faces  imaginable  :  not  handsome,  pre- 
cisely, but  intellectual,  with  dark  eyes  full 
of  expression,  and  an  adorable  brown 
mustache.  I  have  decided  to  join  the 
Browning  Class. 

June  3.  Heaven  forgive  me  for  my 
sins  !  I  have  told  Mr.  P.  K.  Brown  that 
I  am  an  enthusiast  over  Browning"!  It 
would  be  possible  to  extenuate  my  con- 
duct by  saying  that  I  was  driven  into  it, 
but  I  scorn  to  take  refuge  in  such  a  subter- 
fuge. I  will  at  least  be  wholly  sincere 
with  myself.  This  is  how  it  happened  :  — 

Miss  Niles  had  an  evening  reception 
for  Piquet  (I  can't  resist  calling  him  so, 
6 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

and  making  one  word  of  it),  and  all  the 
aristocracy  of  Northbridge  was  present, 
numbering  fifty  ladies  and  six  gentlemen. 
Miss  Niles  was  so  busy  that  she  forgot  to 
introduce  Mr.  Brown  to  me,  and  he  was 
immediately  seized  upon  by  Mrs.  Janseu. 
I  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  poetical 
face  over  her  broad  shoulders,  and  I  won- 
dered whether  she  would  keep  him  to  her- 
self all  the  evening. 

I  don't  like  receptions.  The  wrong 
people  always  stick  to  you  like  burrs,  and 
the  right  ones  have  only  time  to  say  a 
word  in  passing.  For  instance,  I  really 
love  Annie  Fairchild,  but  she  would 
hardly  speak  to  me,  for  she  was  bent 
upon  a  missionary  tour,  as  usual,  and  so 
departed  to  make  herself  agreeable  to 
some  forlorn  person.  By  the  way,  why 
is  n't  it  just  as  untruthful  to  pretend  to 
enjoy  stupid  people  as  it  is  to  appear  to 
care  for  poetry  that  you  dislike  ?  I  told 
Annie  that  I  thought  her  very  insincere, 
but  she  only  laughed  and  went  her  mis- 
taken way,  not  minding  in  the  least  that 
she  left  me  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Colo- 
nel Parminter,  who  is  without  exception 
7 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

the  greatest  bore  I  know.  There  is  a 
limit  to  endurance,  and  this  limit  was 
reached  when  the  colonel  began  to  tell  me 
for  the  fiftieth  time  his  tale  about  the 
narrow  escape  he  had  at  the  battle  of  Bull 
Run. 

"•  I  am  afraid  I  have  perhaps  told  you 
this  story  before,  my  dear  young  friend," 
he  observed,  "  but  you  are  so  sympa- 
thetic." 

"  A  good  story  is  always  worth  hearing 
a  second  time,"  I  said,  blandly ;  "  but  if 
you  will  pardon  me,  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
go  and  help  Miss  Niles  pass  the  cake  and 
lemonade." 

"Certainly,  certainly,  my  dear  young 
friend,"  said  the  colonel,  nodding  his  sil- 
very head  with  antiquated  courtesy. 

I  went  the  rounds  of  the  room.  Most 
of  the  people  selected  their  cake  with  as 
much  deliberation  as  if  it  were  a  solemn 
duty.  Annie  took  some  caraway-seed 
cookies,  for  fear  there  would  not  be 
enough  cake  to  go  around.  Colonel  Par- 
minter,  on  the  contrary,  picked  out  some 
cocoanut  cakes  and  macaroons,  with  con- 
sequential gravity.  I  prefer  his  plan  to 
8 


A   BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

Annie's,  for  I  do  not  believe  that  you  will 
benefit  the  world  any  more  than  yourself 
by  being  self -sacrificing.  For  it  is  quite 
probable  that,  after  fasting  virtuously  on 
caraway-seed  cookies,  you  will  discover 
that  your  neighbor  has  been  secretly  long- 
ing to  feast  on  them,  whereas,  owing  to 
your  unnecessary  self-immolation,  there 
are  none  left.  As  with  caraway-seed 
cookies,  so  with  life. 

Annie  might  avoid  Mr.  P.  K.  Brown 
as  much  as  she  liked,  but  I  was  not  made 
in  that  mould.  I  proceeded'  to  pass  him 
the  cake.  He  was  very  animated,  and 
apparently  much  interested  in  talking 
with  Miss  Anderson.  He  put  out  his 
hand  to  make  some  explanatory  motion, 
and  hit  the  cake-basket,  sending  three 
cookies  flying  in  different  directions. 
Then  he  looked  up.  Our  eyes  met.  I 
shall  never  forget  how  his  face  changed 
when  he  saw  me.  He  glanced  at  me  first 
with  glad  surprise,  probably  because  I 
was  the  youngest  person  in  the  room ;  but 
afterwards  he  gave  me  a  curious,  satis- 
fied look,  as  if  he  had  been  expecting  me 
always,  and  found  me  at  last.  I  flushed 
9 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

under  his  keen  scrutiny.  The  mutual 
embarrassment  lasted  only  a  moment,  for 
he  almost  instantly  stooped  to  pick  up  the 
cookies. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  them?"  he 
asked  helplessly. 

"  We  will  eat  them,"  I  replied  auda- 
ciously. "  Miss  Niles's  floor  is  always  as 
clean  as  a  plate.  Won't  you  have  one, 
Miss  Anderson  ?  "  I  added  wickedly. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  said,  seeming 
greatly  shocked.  "  To  return  to  the  Old 
Pictures  in  Florence,  Mr.  Brown.  I  shall 
be  pleased  to  have  you  come  and  inspect 
my  collection,  and  select  those  that  are 
necessary  for  the  illustration  and  elucida- 
tion of  our  first  study  lesson." 

Miss  Anderson  always  talks  like  a  dic- 
tionary. I  really  cannot  do  her  justice. 

She  surveyed  me  critically.  I  was  sure 
she  noticed  that  my  bang  did  not  curl  as 
well  as  usual,  and  that  my  pink  cashmere 
gown  was  my  old  white  one  dyed.  I 
smiled  back  at  her  in  my  sweetest  man- 
ner, yet  in  my  heart  I  thought  how  gladly 
she  would  give  her  maroon  satin  in  ex- 
change for  my  dyed  cashmere,  if  only  she 
10 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

could  throw  her  extra  fifteen  years  in  to 
balance  the  account.  I  don't  like  Har- 
riet Anderson.  Just  then  Miss  Niles 
came  up.  "  Talking  about  the  Florentine 
pictures  ?  How  delightful !  "  she  said. 
"Mr.  Brown,  have  you  been  presented 
to  my  dear  young  friend,  Miss  Che- 
ney? She  is  one  of  the  most  hopeful  and 
promising  of  our  Browning  enthusiasts." 
At  this  point  Miss  Anderson  raised  her 
eyebrows.  She  looked  at  me  coldly  and 
most  disagreeably.  Her  glance  decided 
me. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  am  very  fond  of 
Browning's  poetry,  only  I  do  not  pretend 
to  know  much  about  him." 

"  No  ?  "  said  Miss  Anderson.  "  I  am 
glad  you  make  no  pretenses." 

This  insulting  speech  roused  me  to 
fresh  untruths.  "I  know  very  little 
about  him,"  I  reiterated,  "but  I  care  so 
much  for  some  of  his  things  that  I  am 
anxious  to  read  as  much  of  him  as  pos- 
sible." 

I  felt  so  virtuous  while  I  was  saying 
this,  so  truthful  and  innocent,  and  as  if  I 
really  were  the  appreciative  young  person 
11 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

that  I  knew  Mr.  Brown  thought  me,  my 
words  were  so  modest  and  my  tones  so 
truly  convincing,  that  even  Miss  Ander- 
son looked  baffled. 

"  Do  you  belong  to  the  Browning  Class, 
Miss  Cheney  ?  "  asked  the  hero. 

What  a  pleasant  voice  he  has !  I 
thought.  He  will  be  sure  to  read  well. 
Perhaps  I  shall  really  get  to  like  Brown- 
ing. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  with  enthusiasm,  for 
Miss  Anderson's  eye  was  still  upon  me, 
"  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  have  just  had 
the  good  fortune  to  be  chosen  a  member." 

Now  I  have  told  the  whole  disgraceful 
truth,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  Mr. 
Brown  will  begin  the  study  lessons 
cheered  by  the  thought  that  there  is  one 
congenial  spirit  in  the  class,  who  is  as 
wildly  devoted  to  Browning  as  he  is  him- 
self. Well,  it 's  too  late  for  regrets.  I 
am  in  for  it  now. 

June  7.  The  Browning  Club  met  for 
the  first  time  last  night.  The  subject 
was  Old  Pictures  in  Florence,  but  we  only 
got  through  the  first  verse. 

Mr.  Brown  began :  — 
12 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

" '  The  morn  when  first  it  thunders  in  March, 
The  eel  in  the  pond  gives  a  leap,  they  say '  "  — 

but  at  this  point  he  was  interrupted  by 
Colonel  Parminter,  who  wanted  to  know 
the  reason  why.  He  was  very  serious 
about  it,  and  to  look  at  him  you  would 
have  said  that  the  fate  of  nations  de- 
pended upon  the  correct  solution  of  the 
problem. 

"  That  is  n't  what  I  call  poetry,"  said 
little  Miss  Perkins  in  her  high-pitched 
voice.  "  The  lines  are  very  unmusical, 
and  then  who  cares  to  know  whether  the 
eel  leaps  in  the  pond  or  not  ?  "  But  she 
was  instantly  frowned  down. 

"  My  dear  madam,  it  is  a  matter  of  the 
utmost  importance  that  we  understand 
each  line  perfectly  before  we  proceed  to 
the  next,"  observed  the  colonel. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Miss  Niles.  "  Do  you 
consider  that  passage  allegorical,  Mr. 
Brown  ?  Does  the  leaping  of  the  eel  in 
the  pond  symbolize  the  struggles  of  Italy 
for  liberty?" 

"  I  will  get  the  encyclopaedia  and  look 
up  eels,"  said  Mrs.  Ellis.  "  I  should  like 
to  know  whether  all  eels  leap  in  all  ponds 
13 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

when'  it  first  thunders,   or  whether  this 
habit  is  peculiar  to  Italy." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  just  a  local  su- 
perstition," suggested  Annie  mildly,  "  and 
had  n't  we  better  go  on  to  the  more  im- 
portant part  of  the  poem  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  equally  important,"  said  Colo- 
nel Parminter  gravely.  "  Each  word  that 
Browning  ever  wrote  is  of  equal  impor- 
tance with  every  other  word." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Ellis  came  back  with  the 
encyclopaedia,  opened  at  Ichthyology. 

"  My  dear  friends,"  she  exclaimed  en- 
thusiastically, "  I  had  no  idea  that  fishes 
were  so  interesting!  Come  and  look  at 
this  picture  of  a  trigger  fish,  and  at  this 
queer  creature  with  a  fluted  collar.  See, 
Grace,  its  eyes  are  stilted  out  from  its 
head  on  a  cartilaginous  stem  !  How  con- 
venient it  would  be  to  have  that  arrange- 
ment of  eyes  when  we  are  driving  with 
your  father,  and  he  wants  us  to  look  at  all 
the  things  that  are  just  behind  us !  "  and 
Mrs.  Ellis  laughed  gayly. 

We  all  joined  in  ;  it  was  a  relief  to  find 
something  that  we  were  expected  to  laugh 
at. 

14 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

Then  Grace  asked,  "  Had  n't  you  bet- 
ter skip  the  cuttle  fishes  and  their  rela- 
tions, mother,  and  proceed  to  eels  ?  It  is 
very  interesting,  but  we  did  n't  form  the 
class  to  study  fishes." 

Mrs.  Ellis  followed  her  suggestion 
obediently. 

"  See  here,  girls,"  she  said,  looking 
abstractedly  at  Colonel  Parminter  ;  "  the 
town  of  Ely,  in  England,  is  said  to  be  so 
named  from  the  rents  having  been  for- 
merly paid  in  eels,  and  Elmore  "  — 

"Does  it  say  anything  about  the  eel 
leaping  in  the  pond,  Mrs.  Ellis?"  asked 
the  colonel.  He  spoke  with  that  severe 
air  of  superiority  which  even  the  least 
wise  of  the  opposite  sex  feels  it  incum- 
bent upon  him  to  assume  over  ours,  if  we 
chance  to  wander  from  the  subject  when 
he  would  like  the  floor  himself. 

"  Electrical  eels !  "  continued  Mrs. 
Ellis.  "  They  are  so  interesting.  Lis- 
ten to  this :  '  These  eels  are  captured  by 
driving  horses  and  mules  into  the  water, 
the  electric  powers  of  the  fish  being  first 
exhausted  and  '  "  — 

"I  have  it!"  cried  Miss  Niles  sud- 
15 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

denly.  "  The  explanation  of  the  eel  leap- 
ing in  the  thunder-storm  has  come  to  me 
in  an  electric  flash.  They  are  electric 
eels,  and  so  when  there  is  electricity  in 
the  air  they  rise  to  meet  it,  as  the  magnet 
seek  the  iron.  Isn't  this  conformable 
with  the  laws  of  electricity,  Mr.  Brown  ?  " 

Piquet  kept  a  straight  face.  "It  is 
a  very  ingenious  explanation,"  he  said 
politely,  "  but,  unfortunately,  I  believe 
the  electric  eels  are  found  only  in  South 
America." 

"  Supposing  we  proceed  to  the  next 
line,"  suggested  Colonel  Parminter  (even 
his  patience  was  giving  way,  it  seemed), 
"  and  appoint  a  committee  to  look  up  the 
subject  of  eels  for  our  next  meeting." 

His  motion  was  cheerfully  carried,  and 
Mr.  Brown  began  again :  — 

"  '  The  morn  when  first  it  thunders  in  March, 
The  eel  in  the  pond  gives  a  leap,  they  say. 
As  I  leaned  and  looked  over  the  aloed  arch 
Of  the  villa  gate  this  warm  March  day, 
No  flash  snapt,  no  dum  thunder  rolled  '  "  — 

"  What  on  earth  is  dumb  thunder  ?  " 
broke  in  Miss  Perkins,  who  had  n't  seen 
the  spelling  of  the  word.      "  Of  all  out- 
16 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

landish  expressions,  that  is  the  queerest. 
I  should  think  even  Browning  would 
have  more  sense  than  that.  Dumb  thun- 
der !  Dumb  lightning  might  be  allowed, 
although  peculiar ;  but  dumb  thunder !  " 

Mrs.  Ellis  flew  to  the  dictionary,  only 
to  find  that  "d-u-m"  was  not  in  it,  and 
Colonel  Parminter  began  a  vivid  descrip- 
tion of  a  battle,  telling  us  how  the  roar  of 
the  artillery  sounded  like  a  severe  thun- 
der-storm. This  reminded  Miss  Niles  of 
a  time  in  her  youth  when  the  house  next 
to  her  own  was  struck  by  lightning.  At 
this  point  Mrs.  Jansen  pounded  on  the 
table  to  call  us  to  order,  as  Mr.  Brown 
was  too  polite  to  interfere  with  us. 

The  last  line  of  the  first  verse  of  our 
choice  poem  is  :  — 

"  Florence  lay  out  on  the  mountain  side ;  " 

and  so  we  were  put  through  a  series  of 
tedious  photographs,  and  made  familiar 
with  the  map  of  Florence.  I  begin  to 
wish  that  I  had  not  joined  the  Browning 
Class. 

June  15.      Last   night   the   club   met 
again.      After  the  lesson  was  over,  Mr. 
17 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

Brown  came  up  to  me,  while  I  was  put- 
ting on  my  things,  and  asked  if  he  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  walking  home  with 
me. 

"  You  may,"  I  replied,  smiling.  "  It 
is  the  one  object  of  my  life  to  give  plea- 
sure." 

"  Then  you  certainly  attain  your  ideal, 
which  is  more  than  most  of  us  can  say." 

As  he  spoke  he  gave  me  a  grave,  flat- 
tering glance  of  approval. 

The  moon  was  shining  brightly,  and 
the  scent  of  roses  was  in  the  air  as  we 
passed  through  Mrs.  Jansen's  porch. 
We  could  hear  the  sound  of  loud  voices 
and  laughter  from  the  house  behind  us, 
where  the  club  were  putting  on  their 
wraps  and  overshoes ;  but  in  front  of  us 
was  quite  a  different  world,  silver,  and 
mysterious  in  its  perfumed  beauty.  Even 
I  was  impressed  by  it. 

"  What  a  night ! "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Brown,  as  if  sure  of  my  sympathy. 

We  had  barely  reached  the  gate  when 

we  heard  voices  behind  us,  and  presently 

Miss  Niles's  slow  soprano.     "  Where  is 

May  Cheney?"  she  inquired.      "I  pro- 

18 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

mised  I  would  see  her  home,  and  I  can't 
find  her,  and  I  am  afraid  to  go  alone." 

"  I  had  forgotten  all  about  Miss  Niles," 
I  said,  pausing,  conscience-stricken.  "  I 
must  go  back  for  her." 

I  was  full  of  apologies,  and  Mr.  Brown 
offered  his  arm  to  her  with  the  same  quiet 
charm  of  manner  that  he  had  shown  me. 

"  Exquisite  moon  !  "  exclaimed  Miss 
Niles.  "  I  am  glad  the  rain  is  over.  A 
truly  poetic  moon,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Brown  ? 
I  should  n't  have  been  so  long,  only  I 
could  n't  find  one  of  my  rubbers." 

Poor  Miss  Niles !  In  spite  of  my  long 
acquaintance  with  her,  I  never  cease  to 
be  surprised  by  her  abrupt  changes  of 
subject. 

July  5.  We  have  Browning  two  even- 
ings a  week  now.  The  more  frivolous 
members  of  the  club  have  begged  for 
some  of  the  lighter  selections  ;  so  there  is 
the  study  class,  which  is  still  upon  Old 
Pictures,  every  Tuesday  night,  and  on 
Thursday  evening  Piquet  gives  us  what 
he  chooses.  Annie  enjoys  everything  he 
reads,  intensely,  and  does  not  show  it ; 
and  I  don't  enjoy  everything,  and  don't 
19 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

show  it.  Voila  the  difference.  We  are 
each  deceitful  after  our  own  fashion.  If 
Mr.  Brown  knew  what  was  good  for  him, 
he  would  fall  in  love  with  her,  even  al- 
though she  is  twenty-seven  and  he  only 
twenty-four  ;  but  he  has  been  indiscreet 
enough  to —  I  am  not  sure  of  it,  so  I 
won't  write  it  down,  but  it  is  pleasant. 
Not  that  I  especially  care  about  him,  for 
he  is  too  serious  and  conscientious  to  suit 
my  taste,  and  then  Browning  will  always 
be  his  absorbing  passion. 

July  25.  Miss  Niles  is  indefatigable. 
She  proposes  that  we  shall  act  "  Colombo's 
Birthday,"  I  to  be  Colombe.  I  should 
die  of  it,  there  is  so  much  to  learn  ;  and  I 
never  could  commit  poetry,  even  when  at 
school.  Besides,  there  are  seven  men  in 
the  play,  and  we  can  muster  only  Mr. 
Brown,  Colonel  Parminter,  and  Mr.  Sea- 
bury. 

August  5.  The  hot  wave  has  merci- 
fully come,  and  we  are  all  too  limp  to 
think  of  acting,  but  are  to  read  "Co- 
lombe's  Birthday  "  instead. 

September  1.  It  is  very  provoking. 
I  am  never  at  home  when  Mr.  Brown 
20 


A   BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

calls  ;  this  is  the  third  time  1  have  missed 
him.  On  the  contrary,  I  am  invariably 
in  when  Miss  Niles  or  the  colonel  ap- 
pears. Such  is  the  contrariness  of  fate  ! 

To-night,  after  the  class,  Piquet  com- 
plained that  he  never  sees  me  now. 

"You  have  that  pleasure  every  Tues- 
day and  Thursday  evening.  I  should 
think  that  was  enough  for  any  reasonable 
being,"  I  observed. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  not  a  reasonable  being," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Well,  I  am,"  I  returned  lightly. 

"  Then,  what  satisfaction  is  there  in  see- 
ing you  among  a  crowd  of  people  ? "  he 
asked. 

But,  as  might  have  been  expected,  just 
then  two  of  the  crowd  interrupted  us. 
They  were  full  of  "  Sordello,"  which  Miss 
Anderson  is  determined  we  shall  study 
next. 

October  1.  Mr.  P.  K.  Brown  is  going 
into  uncle  John's  office,  so  he  will  stay 
here  indefinitely ;  certainly  all  winter,  and 
longer  if  they  like  each  other. 

October  5.  I  have  begun  to  make  a 
Browning  Calendar  for  a  Christmas  pre- 
21 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

sent  for  Mr.  Brown.  I  think  there  could 
not  be  a  greater  proof  of  friendly  regard 
than  that,  and  he  seems  to  want  proofs. 
Of  course  I  like  him !  If  I  did  n't,  would 
I  write  out  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
deep  quotations,  each  more  stupid  than 
the  last  ?  I  wish  he  did  not  like  Brown- 
ing so  well ;  but  he  shall  have  a  portion 
of  him  for  every  day  in  the  year. 

December  25.  Paul  Kent  Brown  has 
given  me  a  whole  set  of  Browning  bound 
in  white  vellum !  What  reckless  extra- 
vagance !  And  for  the  same  amount  of 
money  he  might  have  given  me  a  gold 
bangle  and  a  silver-headed  umbrella,  and 
ever  so  many  other  things  I  want ! 

January  8.  It  has  come  at  last.  I 
do  not  understand  why  men  are  such 
fools !  Why  could  not  Paul  Brown  have 
gone  on  quietly  with  our  pleasant,  peace- 
ful friendship?  For  it  was  pleasant,  a 
very,  very  pleasant  —  flirtation  ?  Well, 
malevolent  beings  like  Miss  Anderson 
may  say  that  I  flirted,  if  they  choose.  I 
wonder  just  what  a  flirtation  is.  I  should 
like  to  fly  to  Mrs.  Ellis's  encyclopaedia 
and  look  it  up.  I  do  not  see  why  they 
22 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

never  put  interesting  articles  in  the  en- 
cyclopaedia. The  dictionary  says,  "  Play- 
ing at  courtship,"  and  I  certainly  never 
did  "  play  at  courtship,"  — never,  never! 
I  defy  Miss  Anderson,  and  Mrs.  Jansen, 
and  all  the  rest  of  them,  to  say  that  I  did. 
If  I  made  Paul  Brown  think  I  liked  him 
better  than  I  really  did,  as  he  says,  why, 
one  never  expects  to  be  taken  so  seriously. 
Of  course  I  like  him,  and  do  now,  in  spite 
of  his  having  been  such  an  idiot,  only  — 
But  I  will  write  out  the  whole  scene,  that 
I  may  see  clearly  how  I  have  not  been 
in  the  least  to  blame.  If  Miss  Ander- 
son had  not  told  him  that  I  was  a  flirt, 
it  would  not  have  happened  ;  and  her  ac- 
cusation was  absurd,  as  I  have  never  had 
any  one  to  flirt  with. 

I  was  skating  with  Annie,  and  we  were 
trying  to  teach  Miss  Niles,  who  used  to 
skate  a  little  when  she  was  a  girl,  which 
was  so  long  ago  that  she  has  forgotten 
how.  Miss  Niles  looks  more  gaunt  and 
grim  on  the  ice  than  anywhere  else,  poor 
dear.  Paul  Brown  soon  joined  us,  and 
asked  us  if  we  did  not  want  to  go  up  the 
river  a  mile  or  two,  and  see  the  huge  fire 
'23 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

that  the  boys  had  made  on  the  ice.  Miss 
Niles  could  n't,  and  Annie,  with  her  mis- 
taken idea  of  self-sacrifice,  stayed  with 
her,  although  I  was  dying  to  have  her 
come  with  me,  and  cast  beseeching  glances 
at  her. 

Paul  and  I  skated  on  for  some  moments 
in  silence.  Paul  skates  delightfully,  and 
his  fine  figure  shows  off  to  especial  advan- 
tage on  the  ice.  At  last  he  said  abruptly, 
"I  cannot  stand  this  sort  of  thing  any 
longer." 

"  Can't  you  ?  "  I  asked,  instantly  turn- 
ing and  facing  the  other  way.  "  Then  we 
will  go  back  to  Miss  Niles." 

"  May,"  he  said,  in  a  certain  masculine 
fashion  of  his  own  that  is  not  to  be  with- 
stood, "  I  won't  be  played  with  any  longer. 
You  must  know  that  I,  at  least,  am  in 
earnest." 

My  heart  beat  very  fast,  and  I  did  not 
reply  at  first.  Then  I  answered,  "  I  don't 
know  what  more  you  want.  I  'm  sure  I 
like  you  very  much,  almost  as  well  as  I 
like  Annie  Fairchild ;  and  I,  at  least,  am 
in  earnest,"  I  added,  imitating  his  tones 
and  skating  rapidly  on. 
24 


A   BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

He  caught  up  with  me  ill  a  moment. 
I  should  think  he  might  have  taken  these 
hints,  and  been  satisfied  to  let  the  matter 
pass  off  lightly  ;  but  he  was  n't,  and  there 
was  not  the  slightest  use  in  trying  to  stop 
him. 

"  I  wish  you  would  skate  on  as  fast  as 
you  can,"  I  said,  "  for  I  want  to  get  to 
the  fire.  I  am  cold." 

"  You  never  spoke  a  truer  word,"  he 
rejoined ;  "  you  are  cold,"  and  then  he 
began  to  quote  Browning. 

I  have  verified  the  quotation  in  my 
white-vellumed  edition,  and,  although  it 
is  not  especially  flattering,  I  will  put  it 
in :  — 

' '  But  for  loving,  why  you  would  not,  sweet, 
Though  we  prayed  you, 
Paid  you,  brayed  you  in  a  mortar, 
For  you  could  not,  sweet.'  " 

He  said  this  verse  between  his  teeth,  in 
rather  a  savage  fashion ;  and  then  —  oh, 
dear  !  I  can't  remember  all  that  hap- 
pened, and  if  I  could  I  would  not  write 
it  down ;  only  he  was  not  satisfied,  even 
after  I  had  turned  serious  and  talked 
sensibly. 

25 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

I  don't  see  why  men  want  to  have 
things  so  definite  !  It  is  one  thing  to 
have  a  man  nice  to  you,  and  quite  another 
thing  to  promise  to  marry  him.  Why,  I 
don't  want  to  be  married  for  ten  years, 
at  least.  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  want 
to  be  married.  I  merely  wished  to  know 
some  interesting  men,  and  now  —  now  — 
Of  course  we  shall  be  just  as  good  friends 
as  ever. 

January  15.  Paul  Brown  never  seems 
to  see  me  at  the  Browning  Class.  When 
he  reads,  he  looks  over  in  the  corner 
where  Annie  Fairchild  and  Grace  Ellis 
are  sitting,  and  when  I  bow  to  him  and 
try  to  say  something  pleasant,  he  merely 
nods  coldly.  I  don't  see  why  a  man  need 
be  rude  to  a  girl,  just  because  she  does 
not  want  to  be  engaged  to  him !  There 
are  plenty  of  men  in  the  world  a  great 
deal  nicer  than  Mr.  Paul  Kent  Brown, 
and  some  day  I  shall  know  them. 

January  28.     I  do  not  pretend  to  un- 
derstand men.     I  am  sure,  if  I  had  been 
as  foolishly  in  love  as  Paul  Brown  gave 
me  to  understand  that  he  was,  I  should  n't 
26 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

get  all  over  it  iu  three  weeks,  and  be  so 
uncivil  that  everybody  notices  it.  Not 
that  he  does  anything ;  he  just  does  n't 
do  anything.  Only  he  used  to  look  at  me 
as  if —  and  now  he  looks  at  me  as  IF  — 
that 's  all ;  but  there  is  sometimes  a  vast 
difference  in  an  "  if."  Well,  I  'm  glad  I 
don't  care  about  him. 

February  1.  Paul  Brown  is  just  as 
nice  to  Annie  as  he  can  be,  and  lovely  to 
Grace,  perfectly  devoted  to  her.  To  be 
sure,  she  is  thirty-three,  but  one  some- 
times hears  of  such  marriages.  Oh,  dear ! 
not  that  I  care ;  only  I  wish  there  were 
somebody  that  I  could  be  devoted  to,  —  I 
should  like  to  see  how  he  would  enjoy 
that ;  but  there  is  nobody  except  Colonel 
Parminter,  and  as  he  is  sixty  years  old  he 
does  n't  count. 

March  1.  I  wish  Miss  Anderson  would 
not  say  such  hateful  things.  She  was 
talking  to  Mr.  Brown  at  the  post-office, 
the  other  day,  when  I  went  to  get  my  mail, 
and  as  I  passed  she  stopped  me. 

"  Good  morning,  May,"  she  said.  "  How 
are   you  ?     I  was    sorry   that    you  were 
27 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

unable  to  attend  the  Browning  Class  the 
other  night.  You  are  looking  wretchedly  ; 
you  've  lost  all  your  roses." 

This  speech  was  meant  for  Paul  Brown's 
ears,  and  he  showed  such  interest  that  it 
brought  all  ray  roses  back.  It  vexes  me 
that  I  have  not  got  over  my  school-girl 
trick  of  blushing. 

I  turned  and  faced  the  two.  "I  am 
very  well,  thank  you.  I  stayed  away 
entirely  out  of  consideration  for  the  class, 
and  not  on  my  own  account,  for  I  had 
such  a  troublesome  cough  that  I  knew  it 
would  annoy  you  all." 

Miss  Anderson  looked  at  me  as  if  she 
believed  that  my  cough  was  a  fiction,  but 
it  was  n't.  I  don't  see  why  she  is  always 
suspecting  me  of  being  untruthful.  I 
should  think  Paul  Brown  might  have 
walked  home  with  me,  but  he  didn't.  I 
do  not  like  "  interesting  men." 

March  9.  I  wonder,  if  my  cough  were 
to  get  very  much  worse,  and  I  should  go 
into  consumption,  whether  Paul  Brown 
would  be  a  little  sorry.  I  think  the  whole 
Browning  Club  would  feel  just  a  trifle 
sad.  They  would  undoubtedly  erect  a 
28 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

beautiful  marble  monument  over  my 
grave,  with  the  inscription  :  — 

"  Fretless  and  free,  soul,  clap  thy  pinion, 
Earth  have  dominion,  body,  o'er  thee.'1 

There  is  a  little  poem  of  Browning's  that 
persistently  haunts  me.  This  verse  keeps 
running  in  my  head  :  — 

' '  Was  it  something  said, 

Something  done, 
Vexed  him  ?  was  it  touch  of  hand, 

Turn  of  head  ? 
Strange  !  that  very  way 

Love  begun. 
I  as  little  understand  love's  decay." 

March  25.  I  cannot  stand  this  sort  of 
thing  any  longer.  I  am  going  to  aunt 
Ruth's  to  make  a  visit.  Is  it  possible 
that  Paul  felt  as  I  do,  when  he  used  those 
same  words,  and  I  laughed  at  him  ? 

I  told  them  at  the  club  that  I  should 
be  absent  from  five  meetings,  and  every 
one  seemed  to  be  very  sorry  except  Mr. 
Brown.  After  the  class  was  over,  he 
said  coldly  that  he  regretted  to  hear  that 
I  was  going  away,  for  he  should  probably 
leave  Northbridge  before  my  return. 

March  26.  I  did  not  know  that  the 
cocks  crowed  at  such  an  unearthly  hour. 
29 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

They  begin  at  three  o'clock,  and  keep  it 
up  steadily  until  daylight.  There  are 
only  three  hours  in  the  night  when  there 
is  absolute  silence.  I  never  stayed  awake 
all  night  before. 

I  am  glad  that  I  was  so  frigid  and  icy 
to  Mr.  Brown  yesterday,  so  that  he  will 
never  suspect  how  much  I  care,  for  I  do 
care,  —  there  is  no  use  in  trying  to  dis- 
guise the  fact  from  myself.  What  a  fool 
I  have  been  ! 

March  30.  That  very  afternoon,  as  I 
was  sitting  by  the  window,  who  should 
drive  up  to  the  door  but  Paul  Brown ! 
He  had  a  little  colloquy  with  mamma, 
who  was  just  going  out  of  the  house  ;  and 
she  came  back  and  told  me  to  put  on  my 
fur-lined  circular,  as  it  would  be  so  cold 
in  driving,  —  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
course  that  I  should  drive  about  the  coun- 
try with  Paul,  when  I  have  never  done 
such  a  thing  in  my  life.  I  opened  the 
window. 

"  I  am  very  busy,"  I  said,  "  and  I  don't 
see  how  I  can  go." 

"What  are  you  so  busy  about?"  he 
asked. 

30 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

I  held  up  a  doll's  dress  that  I  was  mak- 
ing for  little  Ruth. 

"  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  I 
should  finish  this  garment  to  take  away 
with  me,"  I  said  gravely. 

"Won't  you  come?"  he  asked  be- 
seechingly. "  I  may  not  see  you  for  such 
a  very  long  time." 

Of  course  I  "  came."  I  had  in  fact 
meant  to  come,  all  along.  He  said  no- 
thing at  first,  and  then  he  began  to  quote 
softly  to  himself  from  "  The  Last  Ride 
Together:  "  — 

" '  Take  back  the  hope  you  gave  —  I  claim 
Only  a  memory  of  the  same, 
And  this  beside,  if  you  will  not  blame, 
Your  leave  for  one  more  last  ride  with  me.' " 

"Drive,"  I  corrected,  as  flippantly  as 
I  could  ;  but  my  heart  was  heavy  with  a 
foreboding  that  he  considered  everything 
at  an  end  between  us. 

He  did  not  quote  any  more,  and  for 
some  time  we  talked  on  indifferent  sub- 
jects. At  last  he  said :  "  I  wanted  to  see 
you  this  once,  Miss  Cheney,  to  tell  you  of 
my  plans,  and  how  I  happen  to  be  leaving 
Northbridge  in  this  sudden  fashion.  I 
31 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

have  had  a  good  business  opening  offered 
me  in  Texas  " 

"  In  Texas  !  "  I  exclaimed  involunta- 
rily. 

"Yes.  Under  the  circumstances,  I 
prefer  to  make  an  entire  change,  and  I 
expect  to  start  in  a  week." 

I  had  a  choking  sensation,  and  felt  the 
tears  coming  to  my  eyes.  I  never  was  in 
such  physical  misery  in  my  life.  I  was 
determined  that  my  face  should  show 
nothing,  and  so  I  resolutely  drove  back 
the  tears,  all  but  a  little  one,  which  might 
have  passed  for  a  raindrop  ;  for,  as  if  in 
sympathy  with  the  general  dreariness,  it 
was  beginning  to  rain.  I  said  nothing. 
I  could  not  speak.  At  last  Paul  broke 
the  silence. 

"  I  wanted  to  say  good-by  to  you  alone, 
and  not  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Niles  and 
her  phalanx,"  he  said,  with  the  suggestion 
of  a  smile. 

"  Good-by  is  a  very  little  word  ;  it  does 
not  take  long  to  say  it,"  I  observed,  as 
carelessly  as  I  could.  "Do  you  mean 
that  you  are  never  coming  back  ?  " 

I  tried  so  hard  not  to  show  what  I  felt 
32 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

that  I  could  hear  my  own  words  sounding 
strangely  cold  and  formal,  and  as  if  it 
were  a  matter  of  entire  indifference  to  ine 
whether  he  came  back  or  not. 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean,"  he  an- 
swered. 

Then  a  sudden  sense  of  desolation 
swept  over  me.  I  turned  my  face  and 
looked  at  the  big  raindrops.  The  strain 
had  been  too  much  for  me,  and  I  began 
to  shiver  and  tremble  like  an  aspen  leaf. 

"  Are  you  cold  ?  "  Paul  asked.  "  You 
ought  to  have  worn  that  fur  -  lined  cir- 
cular," and  taking  off  his  overcoat  he 
enveloped  me  in  it. 

"  Will  he  have  no  mercy  ?  "  I  thought ; 
for  his  kindness  was  harder  to  bear  than 
his  coldness  had  been. 

"Yes,  I  am  cold,"  I  replied.  "You 
yourself  have  told  me  so.  Please  take  me 
home." 

We  had  come  to  a  dreary  stretch 
through  the  leafless  woods,  and  the  deso- 
late picture  was  completed  by  pools  of 
dark  water  on  either  side  of  the  road,  and 
mounds  of  smirched  and  water-soaked 
snow. 

33 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

"There  is  just  one  thing  more  that  I 
want  to  say  to  you,"  Paul  began.  "  I  am 
going  away ;  you  know  very  well  why. 
Well,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said, 
only  —  only  that  I  have  loved  you,  and 
cannot  help  loving  you."  These  words  he 
uttered  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  this  when 
I  brought  you  here,"  he  continued  abrupt- 
ly, after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I  meant 
merely  to  bid  you  good-by.  I  have 
always  vowed  that  I  would  never  annoy 
a  woman  in  this  way  but  once,  and  — 
Why,  May,  dear  May  !  " 

I  was  crying.  I  could  not  help  it. 
The  tears  that  I  had  struggled  against 
before  came  now,  at  the  first  suggestion 
of  happiness,  in  an  overwhelming,  uncon- 
trollable rush. 

...  I  am  very,  very  happy.  Too 
happy  to  write,  too  happy  to  eat,  too 
happy  to  sleep.  As  might  have  been 
expected,  Miss  Niles  saw  us  driving  back, 
and  we  looked  so  radiant  that  she  spread 
the  news  of  our  engagement  at  once.  So 
all  Northbridge  knows  it,  and  they  all  say 
they  are  not  surprised,  which  is  n't  possi- 
34 


A   BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

ble,  and  all  are  pleased  except  Miss  An- 
derson. It  is  a  pleasure  to  make  so  many 
people  happy. 

May  5.  My  bliss  would  be  complete 
if  it  were  not  for  one  little  black  cloud. 
Paul  himself  is  so  sincere  that  he  will 
never  be  able  to  understand  how  I  could 
pretend  to  care  for  Browning  when  I  did 
not.  I  ought  to  confess  the  whole  thing, 
but  I  have  not  the  moral  courage.  If  I 
could  deceive  him  on  such  a  vital  point, 
won't  he  naturally  conclude  that  I  may 
deceive  him  in  everything?  Still,  I  am 
not  wholly  insincere,  for  I  do  want  to  like 
what  he  likes. 

When  Paul  and  I  are  driving,  or  walk- 
ing, or  sitting  together,  suddenly  this 
apparition  of  Browning  will  pop  up  in  my 
mind  like  a  Jack-in-the-box.  How  easy 
it  ought  to  be  to  make  a  confession  !  It 
could  be  done  in  five  words,  —  "  I  do  not 
like  Browning  ;  "  or  even  in  three,  —  "I 
detest  Browning."  Then  I  try  to  say  this 
sentence  aloud,  but  when  I  picture  the 
pained  look  on  Paul's  face  I  have  not 
the  strength  to  utter  it.  I  stay  awake  at 
night  constructing  little  scenes,  in  which 
35 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

he  is  angry  and  grieved  at  first,  but  always 
forgiving  in  the  end.  I  must  be  in  a  very 
nervous  condition,  or  I  should  not  make 
a  serious  matter  out  of  such  a  trifle.  But 
is  it  a  trifle  ?  I  have  let  Paul  think  that 
I  share  his  greatest  enthusiasm.  He  still 
believes  a  love  of  Browning  to  be  the 
strongest  bond  of  sympathy  between  us. 
Then,  in  addition,  I  am  haunted  by  the 
thought  that  if  I  had  not  been  such  a 
hypocrite  he  might  have  cared  for  Annie, 
in  spite  of  her  twenty-seven  years,  for  she 
really  loves  Browning.  The  full  enormity 
of  my  transgression  never  came  to  me 
until  now. 

"  I  detest  Browning,"  —  nothing  easier 
to  say  in  theory,  nothing  more  difficult  in 
practice. 

May  20.  I  have  spent  such  a  wake- 
ful night!  Yesterday,  at  last,  I  screwed 
up  my  courage  to  speak  of  my  secret.  It 
was  one  of  the  first  warm  days,  and  we 
were  in  the  orchard.  Paul  had  taken  out 
my  little  sewing-chair  for  me,  and  we  sat 
under  the  apple  blossoms,  which  every 
gust  of  wind  sent  in  a  pink  shower  all 
over  niy  hair  and  my  pale  blue  gown. 
36 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

Paul  was  very  happy,  and  unusually 
pleased  with  me. 

"  Yes,  I  will  be  brave  and  tell  him,"  I 
resolved. 

But  just  then  he  began  to  quote :  — 

'  '  Hark,  where  my  blossomed  pear-tree  in  the  hedge 
Leans  to  the  field,  and  scatters  on  the  clover 
Blossoms  and  dew-drops  at  the  bent  spray's  edge.'  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  him  now,"  I  thought. 
He  had  thrown  himself  on  the  grass  by 
my  side,  and  was  lazily  watching  me  with 
half-closed  eyes,  as  I  drew  my  needle 
swiftly  in  and  out  of  my  work. 

I  don't  remember  just  how  it  began, 
but  somehow  or  other  he  chose  to  talk  of 
affectation,  and  how  much  he  disliked  it, 
and  what  a  comfort  it  was  that  I  was  so 
absolutely  genuine,  so  simple,  and  so  un- 
like other  women.  I  felt  the  color  steal- 
ing into  my  cheeks  at  this  undeserved 
praise. 

"  Paul,"  I  began  pleadingly,  "  suppose 
—  suppose  that  you  found  that  I  was  not 
as  genuine  as  I  seemed  ;  suppose  —  sup- 
pose, in  fact,  that  I  were  so  like  other 
women  :  would  you  still  care  for  me,  do 
you  think  ?  " 

37 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  fixing  his 
eyes  on  me  with  such  an  expression  of 
love  and  confidence  that  I  felt  at  once 
triumphant  and  humbled.  "  Why  should 
we  talk  of  what  does  not  concern  us? 
You  are  what  you  are,  the  sweetest,  the 
truest  "  — 

"  But,  Paul,"  I  persisted,  "  I  am  really 
a  different  person  from  what  you  think, 
not  as  good,  not  as  simple.  There  is  a 
secret  that  I  could  tell  you ;  and  yet  I  am 
afraid,  for  you  are  so  absolutely  truthful, 
so  thoroughly  honest "  — 

"  I !  —  good  heavens  !  " 

"  Paul,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  cried, 
frightened  by  his  tones. 

"Nothing,"  he  returned,  vainly  try- 
ing to  reassure  me,  —  "  only  you  cannot 
have  the.  monopoly  of  secrets.  I  too  have 
one." 

But  alas  !  at  this  critical  moment  Miss 
Niles,  in  her  green  sunbonnet,  indiscreetly 
came  through  the  gap  in  the  hedge,  and, 
settling  herself  in  the  hammock,  began 
to  ask  one  question  after  another  about 
Browning,  and  quoted  him  until  she  drove 
me  into  the  house.  For  a  thoroughly  kind 
38 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

woman,  Miss  Niles  is  the  most  inconsider- 
ate person  I  know. 

I  have  not  seen  Paul  alone  since,  and  I 
stayed  awake  half  the  night  torturing  my- 
self with  theories  about  his  secret. 

May  21.  Paul  and  I  took  a  long  drive 
this  afternoon,  —  it  is  the  only  way  in 
which  we  are  sure  to  be  free  from  inter- 
ruptions, —  and  I  tried  unsuccessfully  to 
worm  his  secret  out  of  him. 

"  Paul,"  I  began,  "  I  think  I  know  what 
it  is  that  you  are  concealing  from  me.  I 
feel  sure  that  you  have  been  in  love  with 
some  charming  but  insincere  girl,  and  are 
afraid  to  confess  it  to  me.  But  that  will 
make  no  difference ;  it  won't  trouble  me 
if  you  have  loved  twenty  girls,  if  only  you 
care  last  and  most  for  me." 

Paul  laughed  softly  to  himself. 

"  You  can  set  your  mind  at  ease  upon 
that  point,"  he  said.  "My  secret  is  some- 
thing quite  different.  It  has  nothing  to 
do  with  any  woman." 

"  Has  it  to  do  with  a  man  ?  "  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes,  it  has  to  do  with  a  man." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  some  money  difficulty," 
39 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

I  suggested.     "  Dearest,  I  beg  you  to  tell 
me  all  about  it." 

"  No,"  said  Paul,  "  it  is  nothing  of  that 
sort ;  it  is  not  anything  that  will  affect 
your  happiness,  if  you  do  not  know  it.  It 
will  only  make  life  a  little  harder  for  me, 
which  is  a  just  retribution.  Do  not  think 
of  it  again.  I  ought  never  to  have  men- 
tioned it." 

It  is  very  mysterious.  However,  I 
mean  to  put  it  out  of  my  head,  and  go 
on  as  if  nothing  had  happened ;  but  if 
Paul  will  not  tell  me  his  secret,  he  cer- 
tainly shall  not  learn  mine ;  that  is  quite 
fair. 

July  1.  Uncle  John,  bless  him,  has 
decided  to  go  abroad  in  the  autumn  for  a 
year,  and  so  Paul  is  to  take  all  his  prac- 
tice, or  clients,  or  whatever  the  proper 
term  is.  I  shall  have  to  study  up  legal 
phrases  now,  and  there  is  a  dear  little 
house  to  be  rented,  just  big  enough  for 
two  people  to  begin  housekeeping  in.  So 
we  are  to  be  married  in  November.  I  sup- 
pose we  shall  furnish  our  house  chiefly 
with  our  wedding  presents,  for  it  is  so 
many  years  since  there  has  been  a  wed- 
40 


A   BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

ding  among  the  elite  of  Northbridge  that 
I  am  sure  everybody  will  give  us  nice 
things. 

October  2.  Our  presents  have  begun 
to  flow  in.  There  are  two  boxes  waiting 
in  the  hall  now,  because  I  won't  open  them 
until  Paul  comes.  One  is  from  Mrs.  Jan- 
sen,  and  I  think  it  contains  a  silver  tea- 
service,  like  the  one  she  gave  Lucy  Fuller, 
because  years  ago  she  jokingly  promised 
me  one. 

Evening.  We  have  unpacked  Mrs. 
Jansen's  box.  I  saw  almost  immediately 
that  it  was  full  of  books,  exquisitely  bound 
in  white  vellum.  "Probably  a  set  of 
Shakespeare,"  I  thought;  "they  will  be 
a  great  ornament  to  the  book-case."  I 
took  up  one  volume,  and  found  to  my 
horror  that  the  title  was  "  The  Red  Cotton 
Night-Cap  Country." 

"Paul,"  I  gasped,  "it  is  a  set  of 
Browning,  almost  exactly  like  the  one 
you  gave  me.  Don't  you  suppose  we 
can  exchange  Mrs.  Jansen's  present  for 
silver  ?  " 

Paul  opened  one  of  the  books,  and 
found  my  name  inscribed  on  the  fly-leaf ; 
41 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

and  alas !  each  volume  had  an  appropriate 
quotation  written  in  it,  in  Mrs.  Jansen's 
exquisitely  neat  hand. 

The  other  present  was  from  Grace. 

"  This  will  be  something  worth  hav- 
ing," I  thought,  as  I  eagerly  opened  it. 
It  contained  "  Colombe's  Birthday,"  illus- 
trated with  sketches  that  she  made  her- 
self, the  dear  girl.  It  is  lovely  to  have 
it,  only  —  I  wish  I  liked  Browning  bet- 
ter. Paul  is  very  much  pleased.  He  has 
a  soul  above  spoons,  and  forks,  and  tea- 
pots. 

October  5.  It  is  very  provoking.  The 
whole  Browning  Class  have  run  riot  on 
the  subject  of  their  master,  and  each  mem- 
ber has  vied  with  the  others  in  trying  to 
find  a  delicate  and  original  expression  of 
her  regard. 

Miss  Niles  has  had  a  picture  painted  on 
purpose  for  us,  by  a  New  York  artist  of 
sixth-rate  ability.  The  subject  is  a  scene 
from  "  In  a  Balcony."  Constance  and  Nor- 
bert,  in  purple  and  green  costumes,  stand 
haranguing  each  other,  and  exchanging 
most  sentimental  glances ;  while  just  be- 
hind them  is  the  queen  in  funereal  black, 
42 


A   BROWNING   COURTSHIP 

stiff,  stern,  and  implacable.  The  motto  is, 
"  I  love  once,  as  I  live  but  once." 

Dear  Miss  Niles !  her  intentions  were 
good,  but  it  is  such  a  hideous  picture  that 
we  shall  have  to  banish  it  to  the  spare- 
room. 

Miss  Anderson  has  given  us  two  of 
her  Old  Pictures  in  Florence,  handsomely 
framed.  I  am  glad  Paul  likes  them  so 
much.  /  think  them  hideous.  They  are 
photographs  taken  from  the  original  paint- 
ings, and  show  all  the  imperfections.  I 
can't  see  any  beauty  in  a  Madonna  with  a 
crack  directly  across  her  eyes,  as  if  she 
wore  spectacles.  However,  I  bear  up  for 
Paul's  sake.  I  am  careful  not  to  let  him 
suspect  my  disappointment. 

October  13.  Colonel  Parminter  is  a 
trump.  He  has  sent  us  a  huge  square  box. 
It  is  too  big  to  contain  Browning's  works, 
and  besides,  I  have  taken  pains  to  show 
Mrs.  Jansen's  edition  to  every  one.  Dear 
old  Colonel  Parminter !  I  begin  to  feel 
very  remorseful  for  ever  having  made  fun 
of  him. 

October  14.  When  Paul  came  he 
opened  the  box  for  me,  while  I  stood  by, 
43 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

indulging  in  speculations  concerning  the 
delightful  contents. 

"  Do  you  know,  Paul,  I  think  it  is  one 
of  those  beautiful  bronze  lamps  like  Mrs. 
Ellis's ! "  I  exclaimed  eagerly,  having 
caught  a  glimpse  of  something  bronze. 

"  It  is  too  heavy  for  a  lamp,"  he  re- 
turned. "  I  think  it  is  —  Why,  it 's  a 
bust !  "  and  pushing  away  the  excelsior, 
he  raised  it  on  end,  and  the  countenance 
gazed  at  me  with  a  genial,  kindly  expres- 
sion, and  yet  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  the 
eye,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Well,  my  dear 
young  lady,  how  do  you  feel  now  ?  " 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  it  was  a  life- 
sized  bust  of  Robert  Browning.  I  could 
have  cried  with  vexation,  if  Paul  had  not 
been  there. 

I  have  gone  back  to  my  former  opinion 
of  Colonel  Parminter. 

October  20.  It  is  the  same  old  story 
repeated  in  different  forms.  Even  the 
beautiful  clock  that  Annie  Fairchild  has 
given  us  has  a  Browning  motto  engraved 
upon  it :  — 

"  Time's  wheel  runs  back  or  stops, 
Potter  and  clay  endure." 
44 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

Time's  wheel  won't  stop  long  enough 
for  me  to  tell  of  all  the  ingenious  devices 
the  club  have  resorted  to,  to  vary  their 
gifts,  and  yet  have  them  connected  with 
R.  B. 

Little  Miss  Perkins  is  the  only  member 
who  has  given  me  a  wholly  commonplace 
present.  She  handed  me  some  silver 
sugar-tongs,  with  a  somewhat  abject  air. 
"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  know  how  I 
dislike  Browning.  I  felt  it  would  be  an 
affectation  in  me  to  give  you  a  present 
associated  with  him,  so  I  've  brought  these 
sugar-tongs,  and  I  hope  you  won't  mind 
very  much."  I  embraced  her  on  the  spot. 
The  tongs  are  lovely,  and  just  what  I 
wanted. 

October  25.  It  seems  that  Mrs.  Ellis 
is  going  to  send  us  a  china  tea-set.  So 
"  there  is  some  light  on  the  dark  river." 

October  26.  The  tea-set  has  come, 
and  each  cup  and  saucer  has  a  Browning 
quotation  around  the  edge  !  The  way  of 
the  transgressor  is  hard  ! 

We  have  just  received  a  huge  box  from 
Paul's  brother  in  England.  I  am  very 
much  excited  about  it,  for  as  his  brother 
45 


Philip  is  the  rich  member  of  the  family, 
it  is  undoubtedly  something  delightful. .  . . 

My  curiosity  was  so  great  that  I  could 
not  possibly  wait  until  Paul  came,  so 
Bridget  and  I  together  managed  to  open 
the  box.  I  saw  the  present  was  something 
marble,  and  fancied  all  sorts  of  things. 
In  another  moment  I  discovered  that  it 
was  merely  a  bust.  This  was  disappoint- 
ing, as  I  have  never  been  fond  of  busts ; 
but  I  rather  like  the  head  of  Clytie,  and 
hoped  it  might  be  that. 

Bridget,  with  great  difficulty,  raised  it 
and  set  it  on  the  floor. 

"  Shure  and  it  looks  enough  like  that 
other  gintleman  to  be  his  twin  brother," 
she  said,  "  barring  that  one  is  as  black 
as  the  ace  of  spades,  and  the  other  white 
as  the  driven  snow." 

I  looked  at  it  with  a  sickening  feeling 
at  my  heart.  It  was  (there  was  no  mis- 
take about  it ;  by  this  time  the  mas- 
ter's features  were  well  imprinted  upon 
my  mind),  —  it  was  —  a  bust  of  Robert 
Browning  ! 

I  had  been  trying  on  gowns  all  day 
and  was  tired  out ;  so  as  soon  as  Bridget 
46 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

had  left  the  room,  I  threw  myself  down 
on  the  floor,  and,  leaning  against  R.  B. 
for  support,  I  wept  bitterly.  I  laid  my 
head  against  his  marble  head,  and  my 
tears  coursed  down  his  face.  They  might 
have  melted  a  heart  of  stone,  but  pro- 
duced no  impression  upon  the  unsympa- 
thetic countenance  of  Robert  Browning. 

Presently  I  heard  a  distressed  voice 
say.  "  Why,  May,  darling,  what  is  the 
matter  ?  " 

I  sprang  up  and  faced  Paul.  The  hour 
had  come,  and  I  no  longer  faltered. 

"  That  is  the  matter,"  I  said,  with  the 
gesture  of  a  tragedy  queen.  "  Look  at 
your  brother's  present." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand,"  Paul  said, 
bewildered.  "  I  thought  you  could  not 
have  too  much  Browning." 

"  I  have  never  liked  Browning,  never 
from  the  first  moment  that  I  saw  you, 
never  through  all  these  long  months." 

I  did  not  dare  to  look  at  Paul  to  see 
how  he  bore  this  announcement,  but  I 
heard  him  exclaim  under  his  breath,  "  Is 
it  possible ! " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  it  is,  unfortunately, 
47 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

too  true.  I  have  been  a  hypocrite,  and 
willfully  deceived  you.  You  know  my 
secret  now.  Break  our  engagement,  if 
you  choose.  Whatever  happens,  I  can 
endure  this  life  of  deceit  no  longer.  I 
shall  die  of  too  much  Browning." 

I  was  terribly  excited,  and  flung  my- 
self, trembling,  on  the  sofa. 

In  a  moment  Paul  was  at  my  side. 
"  Dearest  May  "  —  he  entreated. 

I  pushed  his  hand  away. 

"  I  am  not  worthy  to  touch  you,"  I 
cried,  — "  you  who  care  so  much  for 
Browning  ;  you  who  " 

"  May,"  said  Paul  contritely,  "  I  once 
told  you  that  I  had  concealed  something 
from  you.  I  also  have  had  '  too  much 
Browning  :  '  that  is  my  secret."  .  .  . 

October  27.  This  morning  a  note  came 
from  Paul's  brother  Philip  for  me.  I 
will  copy  it  here  :  — 

MY  DEAR  NEW  SISTER,  —  I  am  de- 
lighted to  learn,  through  Paul,  that  you 
are  as  great  an  admirer  of  Browning  as 
I  am  myself.  I  am  glad,  also,  to  hear 
that  you  have  been  a  sufficiently  power- 
48 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

ful  advocate  to  convert  him.  He  used 
to  be  only  a  half-hearted  admirer,  in  the 
old  days,  but  he  tells  me  that  he  has  been 
thriving  on  my  reputation,  and  conduct- 
ing a  Browning  Class  for  your  sweet 
sake.  I  have  been  trying  to  think  what 
I  could  give  you  for  a  wedding  present 
that  you  will  not  have  a  score  of  already, 
and  I  have  decided  to  send  you  a  bust 
of  Browning,  to  put  as  a  genial  house- 
hold god  above  your  hearthstone. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

PHILIP  KENT  BKOWN. 

I  looked  at  Paul,  and  he  looked  at  me, 
and  then  we  both  laughed. 

"  I  can't  get  over  my  surprise  that  you 
should  carry  on  this  long  course  of  de- 
ceit," I  observed. 

"  Really,  I  was  not  so  much  to  blame 

as  you  think,"  he  said,  "  for  I  told  Miss 

Niles  squarely,  in  the  beginning,  that  it 

was  my  brother  who  was  the  distinguished 

P.  K.  Brown.     I  did  not   mean    to  join 

the  class  at  first,  but  after  I  had  seen  you 

—  well,  it  was  all  over  with  me  then,  for 

I  fell  in  love  with  you  at  first  sight.     I 

49 


A  BROWNING  COURTSHIP 

felt  it  was  my  best  chance  of  pleasing 
you,"  he  added,  with  a  smile  ;  "  and  I 
liked  Browning  well  enough  to  begin 
with,  but  Miss  Niles  and  the  colonel  were 
too  many  for  me." 

"  Paul,"  I  said  pensively,  after  a  mo- 
ment given  to  retrospection,  "  we  can 
never  tell  our  kind  friends  what  hypo- 
crites we  have  been  ;  it  would  give  them 
too  much  pain.  We  shall  have  to  bear 
the  consequences  of  our  deceit  for  all 
time.  Do  you  know  that  even  our  wed- 
ding is  to  be  different  from  other  peo- 
ple's ?  Miss  Niles  revealed  to  me,  in  a 
burst  of  confidence,  that  the  organist  is  to 
play,  what  do  you  suppose,  as  we  come 
out  of  church  ?  A  Toccata,  by  Galuppi ! . 
Miss  Niles  says  she  hopes  that  we  shall 
march  through  life  to  Browning  music." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  "  said  Paul. 
50 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 


THE  spring  sunshine  was  coming  in  at 
the  west  window  of  Professor  Bainbridge's 
room,  and  making  a  painful  glare  across 
the  papers  which  were  scattered  on  the 
table  that  was  drawn  up  to  the  slippery 
horsehair  sofa  upon  which  he  was  lying. 
The  room  was  ugly  and  commonplace,  and 
the  professor  had  an  insuperable  objection 
to  both  of  these  characteristics.  He  sighed 
as  he  glanced  at  the  impossible  brick-col- 
ored roses  with  arsenic-green  leaves,  that 
formed  the  pattern  of  the  wall-paper, 
which,  to  make  it  still  more  unendurable, 
was  divided  into  diamond-shaped  com- 
partments by  heavy  black  lines  supposed 
to  indicate  a  lattice.  There  were  six  roses 
and  three  buds  in  each  diamond ;  how 
many  times  he  had  counted  them !  The 
walls  were  adorned  with  uninteresting  en- 
gravings and  portraits  of  the  class  that 
51 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

are  banished  to  the  attic  in  houses  where 
respect  for  art  outweighs  respect  for  fam- 
ily. The  professor  sighed  once  more  when 
he  thought  of  the  dreary  weeks  that  he 
must  pass  in  these  uncongenial  surround- 
ings. But  at  this  point  his  attention  was 
arrested  by  the  sound  of  voices  in  the 
porch  below  him  ;  one  was  the  familiar 
treble  of  the  daughter  of  the  house,  while 
the  other  was  that  of  an  elderly  neigh- 
bor. 

"  Do  tell  me  something  about  your  new 
boarder,  Professor  Bainbridge,"  she  was 
asking.  "  Hannah  Harwood  says  that  he 
has  written  learned  books  and  clever  short 
stories  that  have  made  a  great  stir.  Is 
that  a  fact  ?  " 

Fame  is  sweet,  no  matter  from  how 
humble  a  source  it  is  awarded.  The  pro- 
fessor smiled  complacently. 

"Mr.  Bainbridge  is  a  professor  at  a 
Western  college,"  the  younger  voice  an- 
swered indifferently,  "and  I  believe  he 
has  written  some  stories." 

"  So  Hannah  was  right,"  Mrs.  Brown 
responded.  "  I  thought  she  must  be  mis- 
taken, for  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  the 
52 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

day  he  came  to  town  as  he  drove  past  our 
house,  and  I  thought  he  looked  very  insig- 
nificant." 

At  this  juncture,  the  professor  began  to 
be  troubled  by  doubts  as  to  whether  he 
ought  to  listen  to  a  conversation  which 
evidently  had  not  been  designed  for  his 
amusement. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Brown. 

"  He  has  overworked,  and  had  a  low, 
nervous  fever,  which  has  left  him  —  out 
of  spirits,  to  put  it  mildly.  You  know  he 
came  here  to  be  under  Uncle  Frank's  care, 
but  the  Sanitarium  is  full,  so  we  have 
taken  him  in." 

"  What  does  he  say  and  do  ?  Tell  me 
everything;  it  is  so  interesting  to  hear 
about  nervous  patients." 

"  He  does  n't  say  anything  ;  that  is  just 
the  trouble,"  Carrie  Swift  replied.  "  He 
sat  perfectly  silent  at  table  for  the  first 
four  days  after  he  came,  when,  to  the  re- 
lief of  the  family,  he  took  to  his  room  with 
water  on  the  knee." 

"  The  poor  man  must  have  melancholia. 
Does  he  literally  never  speak  ?  " 
53 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

"  He  can  talk  enough  to  ask  for  fifty 
things  he  wants,  and  to  send  me  up  and 
down  stairs  twenty  times  a  day  to  get 
them,  but  not  enough  to  be  polite.  1 
don't  see  any  excuse  for  his  looking  like 
a  funeral ;  I  believe  people  can  be  cheerful 
if  they  choose  ;  but  Uncle  Frank  says  " 
here  the  speaker's  voice  was  lowered,  and 
the  professor  became  doubly  sure  that  it 
was  dishonorable  to  listen  any  longer. 
He  tortured  himself  with  vain  specula- 
tions as  to  the  revelations  that  followed, 
which  he  knew  only  too  well  must  be  inim- 
ical to  himself.  The  thoughts  thus  sug- 
gested followed  him  into  the  night,  and 
banished  sleep  effectually  from  his  eye- 
lids. 

The  next  morning  he  awaited  Miss 
Swift's  arrival  with  feverish  impatience. 
She  came  at  last,  bringing  him  his  break- 
fast, as  usual. 

"  I  hope  you  had  a  good  night,"  she 
said,  as  she  deposited  the  tray  on  the  table 
by  his  side. 

"  Thank  you,  I  did  not  sleep  at  all,"  he 
replied  coldly. 

Carrie  Swift  gave  him  a  glance  at  once 
54 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

compassionate  and  contemptuous.  She 
was  a  little  creature,  with  a  slight,  unde- 
veloped figure,  and  a  careworn  expression 
that  seemed  unsuited  to  her  nineteen 
years. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  professor  in  a 
peremptory  tone.  "There  is  something 
that  I  wish  to  say  to  you." 

Carrie  obeyed. 

"  I  could  not  help  overhearing  a  part 
of  your  conversation  with  your  friend  last 
evening,"  he  went  on  swiftly,  "  and  I  re- 
gret exceedingly  to  have  given  you  so 
much  trouble.  I  beg  you  to  believe  that 
I  shall  be  more  considerate  in  future ;  but 
in  return  I  will  request  you  to  abstain 
from  talking  me  over." 

His  manner  was  haughty,  even  stern, 
for  there  was  nothing  about  the  sharp- 
featured,  freckled  young  person  before 
him  to  arouse  either  his  interest  or  consid- 
eration. He  thought  her  face  one  of  the 
plainest  that  he  had  ever  seen,  and  its 
lack  of  physical  attraction  was  not  atoned 
for  by  any  charm  of  expression. 

As  she  listened  to  his  words  a  painful 
flush  mounted  to  her  cheeks.  "I  —  I  — 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

am  sorry  that  you  heard  me,"  she  stam- 
mered. 

"  I  am  glad  that,  as  such  observations 
were  made,  I  overheard  them." 

"  After  all,"  and  she  faced  him  with  a 
look  half  appealing,  half  defiant,  "  it  was 
the  truth." 

"  Did  that  justify  you  in  gossiping 
about  me  ?  Put  yourself  in  my  place. 
Imagine  yourself  confined  to  your  room, 
with  your  nervous  system  in  a  shattered 
condition,  and  little  occupation  but  your 
morbid  fancies,  and  ask  yourself  if,  under 
these  conditions,  it  would  be  easy  to  re- 
tain your  cheerfulness  ?  If  you  became 
depressed  and  silent,  would  you  enjoy 
being  held  up  for  ridicule  to  the  whole 
neighborhood  ?  "  Professor  Bainbridge 
had  grown  angry  under  the  recapitulation 
of  his  wrongs.  "  Will  you  promise  to 
desist  from  discussing  me  in  future  ?  "  he 
concluded  in  an  authoritative  and  supe- 
rior tone  that  roused  his  companion,  who 
would  gladly  have  agreed  to  anything  had 
he  been  more  considerate. 

"  I  will  promise  nothing,"  she  said,  with 
a  flash  from  her  gray  eyes.  "  Do  you 
56 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

think  you  have  a  harder  time  than  the 
rest  of  us?  Put  yourself  in  my  place. 
Imagine  yourself  washing  dishes  and 
sweeping  rooms  until  you  were  ready  to 
drop,  and  having  to  stay  at  home  from 
drives  and  sewing-circles  in  the  afternoon 
because  somebody  might  want  to  have  the 
window  open,  and  then  find  that  there  was 
a  draught  and  want  it  shut  again.  Some- 
body who  never  spoke  to  you  except  to  say 
4  thank  you,'  shortly,  as  if  he  thought  he 
should  die  if  he  said  anything  more.  Do 
you  suppose  /  find  it  easy  to  be  cheerful  ? 
And  yet  I  manage  it." 

Greatly  to  Carrie's  surprise,  the  pro- 
fessor laughed  softly. 

"  Poor  girl,  you  do  have  a  hard  time," 
he  said  pleasantly.  "  Suppose  we  each  try 
to  do  what  we  can  toward  the  amelioration 
of  the  conditions  of  the  other?" 

His  genial  manner  recalled  her  to  her- 
self. 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  said  !  "  she  exclaimed 
ruefully.  "  How  rude  I  have  been  to  talk 
in  this  way  to  you,  who  are  a  professor, 
and  so  old!  Please  forgive  me.  Ethel 
is  always  telling  me  that  I  must  not  say 
57 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

whatever  comes  into  my  head,  without 
stopping  to  think.  Ethel  Sanford  is  my 
most  intimate  friend.  She  used  to  live 
in  Longfield.  Ethel  is  not  a  bit  like  me. 
She  is  lovely  to  everybody,  even  to  Mrs. 
Brown,  whom  she  hates.  I  will  never  say 
another  word  to  Mrs.  Brown  about  you, 
although  it  will  be  hard,  for  she  asks  so 
many  questions.  It  must  be  dreadful  to 
be  shut  up  in  one's  room  all  day.  When 
you  have  had  your  breakfast,  and  I  have 
done  the  housework,  perhaps  there  is 
something  that  I  could  do  to  amuse  you  ?  " 

"  Would  you  read  to  me  ?  "  he  asked 
eagerly. 

"  Yes.  Mother  says  that  I  read  aw- 
fully, but  as  she  has  a  cold  I  will  do  the 
best  I  can." 

Mr.  Bainbridge  awaited  her  return  with 
actual  impatience.  Her  flash  of  anger 
had  done  what  her  fortnight  of  patient 
toil  on  his  behalf  had  failed  to  do.  It  had 
given  him  an  interest  in  the  study  of  her 
character.  To  be  sure,  it  was  not  of  a  type 
that  would  have  attracted  him  under  other 
circumstances  ;  but  the  inveterate  student 
of  character  is  grateful  for  the  slightest 
58 


COMMONPPACE  CARRIE 

indication  of  variety  where  he  has  expected 
monotony. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  Car- 
rie was  able  to  comply  with  her  promise. 
She  found  the  professor  with  an  open 
book  by  his  side. 

"  It  seems,  Miss  Carrie,  that  I  am  to  be 
followed  by  one  misfortune  after  another 
for  the  rest  of  my  life,"  he  said  testily. 
"  After  cutting  me  down  to  using  my  eyes 
only  one  hour  a  day,  your  uncle  has  now 
forbidden  my  using  them  at  all.  If  I  am 
to  be  lame  and  blind,  I  might  far  better 
have  given  up  my  existence  when  I  had 
my  fever." 

Patience  had  not  been  one  of  Profes- 
sor Bainbridge's  most  conspicuous  virtues 
in  the  days  of  his  prosperity,  but  in  his 
adversity  it  deserted  him  entirely,  as 
the  long  -  suffering  Carrie  discovered  in 
the  weeks  which  followed.  He,  on  his 
side,  found  that  Mrs.  Swift  had  but  a  too 
well-grounded  opinion  of  her  daughter's 
elocutionary  powers.  His  patience  was 
sorely  tried  by  the  way  in  which  she 
spoiled  the  rhythm  of  poetry  ;  but  on  the 
other  hand,  her  views  concerning  novels 
59 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

were  an  unfailing  source  of  entertainment 
to  him.  He  amused  himself  by  trying  a 
series  of  experiments  in  the  course  of 
which  he  and  his  young  friend  wandered 
in  a  somewhat  vagrant  manner  through 
the  fields  of  English  literature. 

One  afternoon  Mr.  Bainbridge  handed 
"  Sartor  Resartus  "  to  Carrie.  "  Will 
you  be  so  kind  as  to  read  me  this  chapter 
on  '  The  Everlasting  Yea  '  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  like  to  read  it  when  I  wish  to  put 
myself  into  *  good  tune,'  if  I  may  be  al- 
lowed the  expression.  Carlyle  always 
raises  one's  groveling  spirit  to  a  higher 
mood." 

It  gave  him  great  pleasure  to  say  things 
of  this  kind  to  Miss  Swift. 

She  took  the  book  and  began  to  read, 
stumbling  over  the  unfamiliar  words,  and 
treating  her  auditor  to  a  running  com- 
mentary on  the  text.  After  half  an  hour 
spent  in  this  way  she  laid  down  the  vol- 
ume and  said :  — 

"  What  queer  stuff.  What  is  it  all 
about,  any  way  ?  " 

The  professor  gave  her  a  brief  account 
of  Teufelsdrockh's  life.  "  He  was  an  un- 
60 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

happy  man,"  he  said  in  conclusion.  "  Like 
the  rest  of  us  he  was  fighting  his  way 
through  doubt  to  truth,  through  tempta- 
tion and  suffering  to  more  abundant  life. 
'  Name  it  as  we  choose,'  he  quoted,  '  with 
or  without  visible  devil ;  whether  in  the 
natural  desert  of  rocks  and  sands,  or  in 
the  populous  moral  desert  of  selfishness 
and  baseness,  to  such  temptation  are  we 
all  called.'  Do  you  feel  as  if  you  were 
in  a  moral  desert  of  selfishness  and  base- 
ness, Miss  Carrie  ? "  he  inquired,  with 
the  half-amused,  half-kindly  smile  that 
she  had  grown  to  know  so  well. 

"  Sometimes,  when  you  are  cross  with 
me  because  your  knee  does  n't  improve 
any  faster." 

"  What  a  base  slanderer  you  are  !  Go 
on,  please." 

She  obeyed,  and  read  without  comment 
until  she  reached  the  end  of  the  following 
sentence  :  "  Beautiful  it  was  to  sit  there, 
as  in  my  skyey  tent,  musing  and  meditat- 
ing ;  on  the  high  table  -  land,  in  front 
of  the  mountains  ;  over  me,  as  roof,  the 
azure  dome,  and  around  me,  for  walls, 
four  azure,  flowing  curtains,  —  namely, 
61 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

the  four  azure  winds,  on  whose  bottom 
fringes  also  I  have  seen  gilding." 

At  this  point  Carrie  looked  up  from 
her  book.  "  I  hope  the  poor  man  had 
his  overcoat  on,  and  a  shawl  too,"  she 
observed  ;  "  for  if  he  was  blown  upon  by 
all  four  winds  at  once  he  would  need  to 
be  well  wrapped  up,  especially  as  he  seems 
to  have  been  a  sickly  individual." 

"  You  wretch  !  "  the  professor  ex- 
claimed, trying  not  to  yield  to  *his  desire 
to  laugh.  "  Have  you  no  soul  ?  You 
have  spoiled  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
passages  in  the  English  language  for  me. 
I  can  never  read  it  again  without  fancy- 
ing Herr  Teufelsdrockh  wrapped  up  in  a 
blanket  shawl." 

"  But  he  did  n't  wear  one,  so  don't  dis- 
turb yourself  ;  he  was  just  the  kind  of 
man  to  be  imprudent,  and  he  had  n't 
Uncle  Frank,  and  mother,  and  me  to  look 
after  him." 

"  No,  poor  fellow !  " 

Carrie  began  to  read  again,  and  her 
criticisms  continued  in  the  same  vein. 

"  Oceans  of  Hockheimer,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  A  throat  like  Op  —  some  kind  of 
62 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

a  cuss  ;  you  can  pronounce  that  word,  Mr. 
Bainbridge." 

"  Ophiuchus." 

"  Thank  you.  '  Speak  not  of  them.' 
(I  am  sure  that  is  the  last  thing  /  want 
to  do.)  '  To  the  infinite  shoeblack  they 
are  as  nothing !  '  Well,  that  shoeblack 
is  the  only  sensible  person  I  've  come 
across." 

"  Look  here,"  cried  the  professor,  los- 
ing all  patience,  and  snatching  the  volume 
from  her.  "  You  shall  not  murder  Car- 
lyle  any  longer." 

"  I  suppose  this  is  the  '  higher  mood  ' 
that  you  wanted  him  to  get  you  into,"  she 
said,  as  she  rose  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Don't  go  ;  stay  and  talk  to  me,  or  let 
me  teach  you  chess  ;  you  promised  that 
I  might  some  day." 

"  I  've  got  to  clear  out  a  closet  this 
afternoon,  and  do  heaps  of  sewing  on  the 
machine,  and  trim  a  hat  for  Fanny,  and  I 
ought  to  make  some  calls." 

The  professor  reflected  for  a  moment. 
"What   a  useful   life  you  lead,"   he   re- 
marked at  last.     "  I  don't  know  what  this ' 
family  would  do  without  you." 
63 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

"  One  expects  to  be  useful  in  one's 
family." 

"  You  do,  at  all  events.  Does  it  not 
bring  a  sense  of  thorough  satisfaction  to 
be  so  indispensable  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  about  it." 

"  You  rarely  occupy  your  mind  with 
yourself,  I  fancy." 

"  What 's  the  use,"  she  said  briskly, 
"  when  everything  else  is  so  much  more 
interesting  ?  " 

This  remark  evidently  opened  a  wide 
field  of  speculation  to  the  professor,  for 
he  meditated  upon  it  for  some  time  in 
silence.  At  last  Carrie  renewed  her  at- 
tempt to  go. 

"  When  you  are  alone,  what  do  you 
think  about  ?  "  Mr.  Bainbridge  asked, 
as  she  stood  opposite  him  with  her  hand 
on  the  door-knob. 

"  That  depends  upon  the  time  of  day  ; 
early  in  the  morning  I  think  about  house- 
work, and  the  rest  of  the  time  I  divide 
my  thoughts  between  you  and  mother, 
and  the  sewing-machine,  until  evening, 
when  I  think  of  my  small  sisters  ;  it  is 
64 


COMMONPLACE   CARRIE 

strange,  but  1  think  of  them  regularly 
every  night  at  eight  o'clock." 

"  You  enviably  busy  creature !  But 
when  your  work  is  over,  how  do  you  oc- 
cupy your  mind  then  ?  " 

"  When  my  work  is  over,  I  go  to 
sleep." 

"  Happy  girl !  I  wish  I  could  go  to 
sleep  with  such  ease.  When  you  chance 
to  lie  awake,  however,  do  you  never  worry 
over  your  shortcomings?  are  you  never 
beset  by  the  cruel  problems  of  life  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  wish  I  had  n't  taken  a  cup  of 
coffee.  That  is  always  my  first  and  last 
thought  when  I  lie  awake  at  night." 

Certainly  this  young  girl  was  amusing  ; 
so  much  the  professor  conceded  as  she 
glanced  back  at  him  mischievously  when 
she  left  the  room.  He  was  growing  to 
have  a  kindly  feeling  for  her,  apart  from 
his  interest  in  her  as  a  study.  Her  un- 
consciousness and  simplicity  pleased  him, 
and  she  piqued  his  curiosity. 

At  length  he  grew  bold  enough  to  give 
her  a  short  tale  of  his  own  to  read.  The 
scene  was  laid  in  Florence  five  centuries 
65 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

ago,  and  the  little  romance  had  attracted 
far  more  attention  than  his  "  Historical 
Sketches,"  which  covered  the  same  period. 
He  was  aware  that  the  story  had  received 
greater  praise  than  it  deserved,  and  he 
was  anxious  to  learn  the  opinion  of  an 
unprejudiced  mind  which  would  be  alike 
unaffected  by  fashion  and  regard  for  him- 
self. 

When  Carrie  finished  reading  "  A 
Mosaic  of  the  Thirteenth  Century,"  she 
gave  it  to  her  mother  to  return  to  the 
professor,  a  circumstance  which  that  ob- 
servant man  did  not  fail  to  note. 

He  would  not  let  Miss  Swift  off  thus 
easily.  The  next  time  he  saw  her,  he  de- 
manded her  opinion.  "  How  do  you  like 
my  romance  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Since  you  ask  me,  I  am  sorry  "  — 
she  began,  then  hesitated. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  to  say  just  what  you 
think." 

"  Well,  then,  /  hate  it." 

"  Thank  you ;  most  people  who  find  the 
plot   and  characters   disagreeable,  praise 
the  local  color,  and  what  they  term  '  the 
atmosphere  of  the  thirteenth  century.' ' 
66 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

"  I  never  lived  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
so  I  don't  know  anything  about  its  atmo- 
sphere." 

"  Do  you  think  my  sketch  artistic  ?  "  he 
asked,  with  his  accustomed  smile. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  said  doubtfully. 
"  All  the  disagreeable  stories  that  Ethel 
admires  are  artistic,  she  says.  1  never 
know  whether  books  are  artistic  or  not  " 
—  and  she  raised  her  eyes  with  a  child- 
like candor  that  ought  to  have  disarmed 
her  tormentor. 

"You  take  no  pleasure  then  in  art, 
apart  from  subject,  nor  in  form  and 
color?"  he  went  on.  "You  have,  I  fear, 
no  sesthestic  taste." 

Her  face  grew  crimson.  If  he  chose 
to  amuse  himself  at  her  expense  she  need 
not  spare  him. 

"  I  hate  your  story  from  beginning  to 
end,"  she  said  with  a  certain  fierceness. 
"  I  can't  see  what  good  there  is  in  writing 
about  such  horrid  things  and  wicked  peo- 
ple. I  should  be  ashamed  to  have  such 
ideas  come  into  my  head.  I  don't  won- 
der you  had  nervous  prostration  after- 
wards." 

67 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

The  professor  lay  back  on  the  sofa  and 
laughed  heartily,  notwithstanding  that 
Carrie  looked  perturbed  as  she  left  the 
room. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Mr. 
Bainbridge  next  saw  her.  He  had  been 
expecting  her  for  some  time  before  he 
heard  her  business-like  knock  on  the  door. 
She  came  in,  bringing  him  his  tea  on  an 
ugly  black  waiter  adorned  by  a  gilt  land- 
scape that  had  been  dimmed  by  age  ;  the 
china  which  held  his  repast  was  brown 
and  white,  and  Carrie  wore  a  blue  and 
white  checked  apron  over  a  dark  green 
dress. 

"  Here  is  a  case  illustrating  my  point," 
said  the  professor,  reverting  to  the  subject 
of  their  former  interview.  "  Had  you  any 
of  the  aesthetic  passion,  you  would  have 
put  on  your  pretty  white  apron,  and 
brought  me  my  tea  in  those  Faience 
dishes  on  the  red  waiter,  in  which  case 
you  would  have  made  a  harmonious  pic- 
ture." 

The  poor  child  was  tired  and  out  of 
spirits,  and  this  was  a  little  too  much  to 
bear  in  silence.  "I  guess  you  wouldn't 
68 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

have  any  time  to  think  about  the  aesthetic 
passion  if  you  were  as  busy  as  I  am," 
she  returned,  "  or  to  stop  and  think  what 
colors  looked  best  together."  She  rushed 
out  of  the  room  to  hide  her  tears.  When 
the  professor  next  saw  her  her  eyelids 
were  red  and  swollen. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Carrie,"  he  said  peni- 
tently, "  I  have  been  both  rude  and  un- 
grateful to  my  faithful  little  nurse,  who  is 
so  much  better  to  a  crusty  old  fellow  than 
he  deserves.  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  "  and 
he  held  out  his  hand  with  a  pleading  mo- 
tion. Carrie  did  not  take  it.  She  looked 
at  him  wearily.  His  face  had  grown  un- 
usually gentle. 

"  It  is  n't  so  much  that  I  am  angry  at 
what  you  have  said,"  she  explained,  in  a 
burst  of  confidence.  "  It  is  that  some- 
times I  feel  as  if  I  never  did  anything  to 
suit  anybody,  and  then  I  get  cross  and 
hate  myself.  I  can't  ever  make  a  pretty 
picture,  because  I  am  so  hideous.  I  wish 
Ethel  were  here  ;  perhaps  she  may  come 
for  a  visit  before  you  go ;  she  is  lovely, 
and  has  such  pretty  clothes ;  but  after  all, 
it  is  n't  my  fault  that  I  am  plain  and  stu- 
69 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

pid,  and  can't  find  time  to  make  any  more 
white  aprons." 

The  professor  gave  one  of  his  provoking 
laughs,  but  instantly  grew  grave.  The 
pathos  of  the  girl's  life  had  suddenly  and 
powerfully  appealed  to  his  sympathies. 
How  young  she  was  to  have  so  much  care ! 
He  saw  the  dull  years  stretching  on  for 
her  in  endless  succession,  filled  with  hum- 
drum duties,  and  unillumined  by  any  of 
the  light  which  an  imaginative  person 
throws  around  the  future,  to  make  the 
dreary  present  more  endurable.  The  un- 
selfishness of  her  character  struck  him  as 
it  had  never  done  before. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  in  his  most  persuasive 
manner,  "  you  have  not  forgiven  me  yet ; 
pray  do,  and  let  us  be  better  friends  in  the 
future." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  be  better 
friends.  The  more  you  knew  me,  the  more 
you  would  laugh  at  me.  I  don't  believe 
you  ever  like  people  for  themselves  alone. 
I  will  take  your  waiter  now,  please,"  —  and 
she  held  out  her  hand  for  it. 

He  took  her  hand  and  clasped  it  firmly 
in  his.  "You  do  me  an  injustice,"  he 
70 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

said.  "  I  like  you  now  for  yourself  alone, 
and  I  want  you  to  like  me  for  myself 
alone,  and  not  because  I  have  some  repu- 
tation as  an  author,  or  "  — 

"  I  certainly  shall  not  like  you  on  ac- 
count of  your  books,"  she  interrupted 
playfully.  She  was  almost  charming  when 
her  face  lighted  up  in  that  unexpected 
way.  The  professor  still  kept  her  hand. 
"Will  you  forgive  me?"  he  reiterated. 

"  I  will  forgive  you,  but  we  are  not  the 
kind  to  be  friends." 

"  You  mean  we  are  not  '  sympaticaj  as 
the  Italians  say;  but  that  is  not  neces- 
sary." 

"  If  Ethel  were  only  here  !  "  —  and  she 
gently  withdrew  her  hand  ;  "  she  is  intel- 
lectual and  sympathetic,  and" 

"  I  am  thankful  she  is  not  here,"  he 
broke  in  impatiently.  It  piqued  him  to 
have  his  unusual  advances  met  with  such 
indifference.  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  dis- 
like me,"  he  added  coldly. 

"  How  foolish  you  are !  I  don't  dis- 
like you,  but  there  is  a  long  way  between 
not  disliking  a  person  and  wishing  to  be 
friends  with  him.  How  I  hate  all  this 
71 


COMMONPLACE   CARRIE 

talk  about  one's  feelings,"  she  said  vehe- 
mently. She  had  risen  and  was  standing 
opposite  the  window,  and  her  face  sud- 
denly became  radiant. 

"  Uncle  Frank  has  come  back  from  Bos- 
ton," she  announced  in  great  excitement. 
She  left  the  room  precipitately,  and  pre- 
sently the  professor  saw  her  run  down  the 
street  and  greet  her  uncle  with  outstretched 
arms.  "  She  is  a  good  lover,"  he  reflected ; 
"  how  she  would  worship  a  husband  !  " 
No  man  with  a  spark  of  sentiment  or 
imagination  could  fall  in  love  with  her,  he 
told  himself,  but  her  friendship  would  be 
something  worth  having. 

For  those  of  us  who  remain  in  this 
world,  spring  always  ends  in  summer, 
ultimately,  no  matter  how  lengthened  the 
process  may  be.  It  was  greatly  protracted 
in  Longfield,  not  only  from  climatic  causes, 
but  likewise  for  internal  and  domestic 
reasons.  It  seemed  to  Professor  Bain- 
bridge,  who  had  never  before  experienced 
a  New  England  spring,  as  if  house-clean- 
ing were  the  chief  event  of  the  season, 
and  the  delicious  carols  of  the  thrushes 
and  catbirds,  the  dim,  feathery  sheen  of 
72 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

the  opening  leaves,  and  the  fields  starred 
with  anemones  or  dotted  with  dandelions 
were  so  many  impertinent  interruptions  to 
the  one  important  business  in  life.  He 
was  well  enough  to  take  long  drives  into 
the  country  with  Carrie's  uncle,  the  doc- 
tor, and  sometimes  she  herself  was  his 
companion  ;  but  her  mind  on  these  occa- 
sions was  apt  to  revert  to  the  best  method 
for  killing  moths,  or  to  an  infallible  means 
of  exterminating  Buffalo  beetles.  In  spite 
of  her  limitations,  however,  his  friendship 
with  Carrie  grew  as  the  weeks  passed. 
When  summer  at  last  took  the  place  of 
spring,  its  advent  was  marked  by  unusual 
festivity  in  the  little  town.  The  professor 
concluded  that  the  industrious  housewives 
were  eager  to  exhibit  the  fruits  of  their 
labors,  for  they  gave  a  series  of  tea-drink- 
ings  in  their  immaculate  houses,  at  which 
all  their  best  china  figured,  as  well  as  the 
new  gowns  which  had  been  as  important 
a  feature  in  the  spring  of  the  younger 
portion  of  the  community,  as  the  sweep- 
ing and  garnishing  of  their  dwellings  had 
been  with  their  elders. 

The  professor  was  not  a  social  man  ;  or 
73 


COMMONPLACE   CARRIE 

rather,  to  be  accurate,  he  never  thought 
it  worth  his  while  to  be  civil  to  persons 
who  bored  him,  and  the  society  in  Long- 
field  was  such  as  to  elicit  nothing  but 
monosyllables  from  him.  Genius  has  this 
privilege,  —  it  may  be  rude  without  losing 
any  of  its  prestige ;  and  whatever  his 
reputation  might  be  in  the  world  at  large, 
in  Longfield  Professor  Bainbridge  stood 
for  Genius  (spelled  with  a  capital  G). 

Carrie,  who  knew  how  delightful  the 
professor  could  be  when  he  chose,  was 
not  satisfied  with  his  behavior  when  in 
company.  One  evening  she  took  him 
to  task. 

"  If  you  go  to  the  Petersons'  lawn  party 
to-morrow,"  she  said,  "you  must  be  just 
as  agreeable  as  you  can  ;  of  course  you 
don't  find  Longfield  people  pleasant  when 
you  are  disagreeable  to  them." 

"  I  consider  it  a  breach  of  truthfulness 
to  appear  to  like  persons  whom  I  in  real- 
ity detest,"  Mr.  Bainbridge  returned,  with 
the  air  of  supporting  a  valuable  moral 
principle. 

"Really,"  Carrie  said,  throwing  back 
her  head,  and  putting  all  the  sarcasm  of 
74 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

which  she  was  capable  into  her  voice. 
"  When  Fanny  does  as  you  do,  we  say 
she  is  a  very  naughty  little  girl.  That  is 
just  the  difference  between  a  little  girl 
and  a  great  man,"  she  mused,  "  a  really 
famous  man.  Mrs.  Peterson  asked  me 
the  other  day  if  I  did  not  feel  it  a  privi- 
lege to  be  under  the  same  roof  with  so 
much  greatness.  At  first  I  thought  she 
meant  the  new  parlor  curtains." 

"  '  Greatness  '  feels  contemptibly  small 
this  evening,  Miss  Carrie,  so  please  don't 
take  him  down  any  more  than  is  neces- 
sary." 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  I  have  a  furious  headache.  The 
whole  top  of  my  head  seems  to  be  coming 
off."  He  flung  himself  down  on  the  par- 
lor sofa  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have  no  doubt 
I  am  in  for  another  fever." 

"  Men  always  think  they  are  on  the 
brink  of  the  grave  when  they  have  a  head- 
ache," Carrie  remarked.  "  Mother  has 
one  nearly  every  week,  but  she  has  never 
had  a  fever." 

In  spite  of  these  unsympathetic  words 
she  was  truly  sorry  for  him.  Suffering  of 
75 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

body  appealed  to  her  as  suffering  of  mind 
did  not ;  it  was  something  tangible  and 
comprehensible  :  it  was  beyond  the  con- 
trol of  the  patient,  and  within  the  pro- 
vince of  the  nurse. 

"  I  can  sometimes  drive  away  mother's 
headaches  by  stroking  her  forehead,"  she 
said.  "  Perhaps  I  can  cure  you ;  may 
I  try?" 

"  Indeed  you  may." 

Carrie's  touch  was  firm,  yet  gentle.  It 
soothed  the  professor  and  carried  him 
back,  with  a  skip  of  thirty  years,  to  the 
days  of  his  childhood,  when  another  hand 
with  a  motion  as  firm  and  gentle  had  put 
him  to  sleep  night  after  night.  He  had 
been  rather  a  pathetic  little  boy,  with  a 
tendency  to  sleeplessness  even  in  those 
early  days.  He  thought  of  his  mother's 
premature  death,  and  of  his  lonely  life  ; 
while  Carrie's  hand  traveled  across  his 
forehead,  making  a  running  accompani- 
ment to  his  reveries. 

"  You  must  tell  me  if  you  do  not  like 
this,"  she  said  anxiously. 

"  I  do  like  it ;  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
much  good  it  is  doing  me." 
76 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

The  fine  side  of  Carrie's  nature  ap- 
pealed to  him  irresistibly.  He  was  lost 
in  admiration  of  her  utter  unconscious- 
ness of  self.  She  was  trying  to  help  him 
as  simply  and  unaffectedly  as  if  she  were 
a  sister  of  charity  and  he  a  hospital  pa- 
tient. 

He  forgot  that  he  had  ever  been  vexed 
by  her  lack  of  appreciation  and  that  he 
had  once  thought  her  commonplace.  He 
longed  to  seize  her  hand  and  tell  her  how 
great  a  blessing  her  friendship  might  be 
to  him.  He  wanted  to  say  that  her 
strength  and  unconsciousness  humbled 
him  ;  but  he  judged  rightly  that  at  the 
first  hint  of  these  things  her  hand  would 
be  withdrawn  and  the  growing  peace  of 
their  intercourse  troubled. 

At  length  there  was  the  sound  of  the 
opening  of  the  long  French  window  op- 
posite them.  The  professor  moved  un- 
easily, while  the  color  mounted  to  his 
face.  Carrie  remained  undisturbed.  She 
put  up  her  hand  with  a  warning  gesture, 
as  her  mother,  accompanied  by  the  ubi- 
quitous Mrs.  Brown  and  her  friend  Miss 
Harwood,  entered  the  room. 
77 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said,  "  he  is  just  going 
to  sleep  ;  he  has  a  bad  headache." 

Mrs.  Brown  and  Miss  Harwood  ex- 
changed significant  glances.  The  pro- 
fessor treacherously  kept  silent. 

"  Carrie,"  said  Mrs.  Swift  gently, 
"  will  you  please  take  my  bonnet  upstairs, 
and  bring  down  my  eyeglasses  ?  " 


II 

The  afternoon  of  Mrs.  Peterson's  lawn 
party  was  bright,  but  insufferably  hot,  a 
fortunate  combination,  as  the  weather  en- 
abled the  guests  to  be  present,  and  fur- 
nished them  with  an  unfailing  topic  of 
conversation.  Carrie  and  the  professor 
arrived  upon  the  scene  in  due  season,  and 
were  instantly  separated  by  Miss  Har- 
wood, who  kept  Mr.  Bainbridge's  elo- 
quence to  herself  for  half  an  hour,  much 
to  the  regret  of  Kitty  Peterson. 

After  a  lengthy  comparison  between 
New  England  in  the  present  day  and  Italy 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  Miss  Harwood 
touched  upon  the  women  of  both  coun- 
tries. 

78 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

"  You  would  not  say  what  you  do  about 
the  loss  of  beauty  in  New  England  if  you 
could  see  Ethel  Sandford,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  She  is  of  the  golden-haired  Ti- 
tian type,  and  a  fascinating  creature  be- 
sides." 

"  Miss  Sandford  appears  to  be  not  only 
the  most  beautiful  of  her  sex,  but  a  para- 
gon of  all  the  virtues  and  intellectual 
graces  also,"  the  professor  returned.  "  I 
confess  I  am  tired  of  hearing  Aristides 
called  4  The  Just.'  " 

"  Still  harping  upon  the  great  men  of 
the  thirteenth  century  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Peterson,  who  had  caught  the  last  clause 
of  this  sentence.  "  They  were  all  giants, 
those  men  of  that  fertile  period,"  she 
added  in  a  tone  of  deep  conviction,  "  but 
I  myself  don't  think  Aristides  quite  equal 
to  Dante  ;  Dante  now  seems  to  me  a 
grand  poet." 

It  was  almost  tea  time  before  the  pro- 
fessor could  make  his  way  to  Carrie.  "  It 
is  comfortable  to  get  back  to  you,"  he 
said,  sinking  lazily  on  the  bench  by  her 
side,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  have  been 
bored  to  death  between  discussions  of  the 
79 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

state  of  the  weather  and  the  state  of  Italy 
in  the  thirteenth  century.  Every  one  in 
Longfield  has  been  studying  up  on  the 
subject.  People  fancy  that  it  is  niy  one 
interest.  I  have  returned  to  you  for  rest, 
after  the  incessant  flow  of  witty  and  wise 
conversation." 

"  Because  I  am  stupid  and  silent. 
Thank  you." 

"  You  are  very  perverse,  and  always 
will  twist  my  compliments  into  reproaches. 
I  mean  that  you  are  a  most  restful  little 
person."  He  had  some  roses  in  his  hand. 
"  The  prettiest  Miss  Peterson  gave  me 
these,"  he  said,  as  he  offered  them  to  her  ; 
"  do  put  them  in  your  belt,  they  contrast 
so  well  with  your  blue  dress." 

"  I  can't  take  them  ;  Kitty  would  n't 
like  it." 

"/cannot  wear  them,"  he  said. 

"  You  have  no  sentiment ;  when  a 
young  lady  gives  you  flowers  you  must 
treasure  them  carefully,  —  at  least  until 
you  are  out  of  her  sight." 

"  It  is  you  who  have  no  sentiment," 
observed  her  companion. 

"  I  really  must  n't  take  them,"  Carrie 
80 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

said,  but  there  was  a  shade  of  doubt  in 
her  tone. 

"Just  these  two,  they  will  never  be 
missed,"  he  urged.  Carrie  succumbed 
with  a  thrill  of  pleasure,  realizing  for  the 
first  time  what  it  was  to  be  young  and 
a  woman.  The  professor  smiled  down 
upon  her. 

"  This  is  enjoyment,"  said  he.  "  What 
is  needed  to  complete  our  perfect  content- 
ment ?  " 

"  A  back  to  this  seat,  and  cooler 
weather." 

"  You  prosaic  and  ungrateful  girl !  Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  the  devotion  of 
'  greatness  '  is  not  sufficient  to  make  you 
forget  these  little  drawbacks  ?  " 

"  But  you  are  not  devoted  to  me ;  if 
you  were  you  would  fan  me.  Everybody 
fans  Ethel,  always." 

The  professor  took  her  fleecy  white 
fan.  "  It  looks  like  a  pile  of  snow- 
flakes,"  said  he.  "  Is  it  swan's  down  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  made  of  goose-feathers.  I 
pasted  them  all  on  cardboard  myself. 
Don't  you  admire  my  ingenuity?  " 

"  All  my  swans  are  your  geese,"  he 
81 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

murmured,  as  he  slowly  moved  her  fan 
back  and  forth. 

"  How  little  breeze  you  make  !  I  '11 
show  you  how,"  —  and  she  took  posses- 
sion of  her  fan.  "  There,  see  the  differ- 
ence," she  added,  as  she  briskly  set  the 
air  in  motion. 

"  You  always  do  everything  well ;  what 
will  become  of  me  when  I  no  longer  have 
my  little  friend  to  act  as  guide  and  care- 
taker ?  You  cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  say 
that  we  are  not  the  '  kind  '  to  be  friends 
now  ?  "  he  persisted.  "  I  want  you  for 
my  friend.  At  least  we  are  better  friends 
than  we  were  at  first  ? "  he  demanded, 
spurred  on  by  her  silence. 

"  I  should  hope  so  ;  at  first  you  were 
detestable." 

He  joined  in  her  laugh.  "  I  wish  this 
pleasant  summer  was  not  to  end  so  soon," 
he  proceeded.  "  I  am  sorry  that  I  rashly 
promised  to  go  to  the  Rangeley  Lakes 
week  after  next ;  and  in  a  month  or  two 
I  shall  be  back  in  my  dull  routine  in  the 
West.  I  wish  we  lived  nearer  each  other. 
I  wish  "  —  He  stopped  abruptly,  for  he 
had  caught  sight  of  a  face  and  figure  that 
82 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

he  had  never  seen  before.  He  was  sure 
that  the  slender  girl  who  was  coming 
slowly  toward  them  down  the  garden  path 
was,  like  himself,  a  stranger  in  Long-field. 
She  was  not  unusually  pretty,  but  she 
was  extremely  graceful,  and  her  white 
dress  fitted  her  to  perfection,  and  was 
a  marvel  of  simplicity  and  taste.  She 
wore  a  hat  with  rather  a  broad  brim, 
and  a  wreath  of  pink  sweetbrier  around 
it.  It  threw  a  shadow  over  her  face,  and 
made  the  waves  of  golden-brown  hair  on 
her  forehead  seem  remote  and  mysteri- 
ous. 

Carrie  was  waiting  for  the  end  of  the 
professor's  sentence.  At  last  she  looked 
up.  "  Ethel !  "  she  cried  in  excitement. 
"  My  dear,  when  did  you  come  ?  Kitty 
did  n't  tell  me  she  expected  you  this  week. 
You  must  come  to  us  as  soon  as  you 
can.  How  lovely,  how  altogether  charming 
this  is,"  and  she  flung  her  arms  around 
her  friend  with  utter  disregard  of  specta- 
tors. 

Mr.  Bainbridge  lingered  in  the  vicinity, 
but  it  was  some  moments  before  Carrie 
remembered  to  present  him  to  Ethel. 
83 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

"  I  already  know  Miss  Sandf  ord  well  by 
reputation,"  he  said  after  the  introduction 
had  been  accomplished,  "  and  I  need  not 
add  that  her  reputation  has  not  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  her  friend." 

Carrie   moved   away  to  help   pass  the 
salad,   and   Ethel   took  the  half   of   the 
bench  which  she  had  left,  while  the  pro- 
fessor dropped  into  his  old  seat.     He  was 
more  animated  than  Carrie  had  ever  seen 
him.     "What   a  contrast  to  the  way  in 
which  he  talks  to  me,"  she  thought,  as 
she  glanced  at  them  from  time  to  time. 
"  There  he  goes  to  get  her  a  comfortable 
chair,  but  I  might  have  broken  my  back 
on  that  bench  until  the  day  of  judgment 
and  he  would  n't  have  done  anything  about 
it.     He  is  fanning  her,  I  knew  he  would, 
and  he  is  doing  it  as  if  he  had  been  used 
to  it  all  his  life,  and  with  what  an  air  of 
devotion !     If  a  girl  is  plain  and  has  n't 
any  intellect,  a  man  stops  liking  her  just 
as  soon  as  a  pretty,  bright  girl  appears, 
although  instead  of  doing  things  for  him, 
she  makes  him  wait  on  her.    It  is  n't  very 
fair,  but  it 's  natural ;  I  should  like  a  pretty 
girl  better  than  a  plain  one  if  I  were  a 
84 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

man.  He  has  taken  the  advice  I  gave 
him  last  evening,"  she  thought  with  a  lit- 
tle smile,  in  spite  of  her  heartache ;  "  for 
once  he  is  making  himself  as  agreeable  as 
he  can." 

Some  of  the  petals  from  one  of  her  roses 
fell  at  her  feet.  She  took  them  both  out 
of  her  belt,  and  after  looking  at  them  re- 
gretfully she  tore  them  to  pieces.  Her 
brief  hour  of  triumph  was  over. 

Love  is  often  accused  of  blindness,  but 
the  most  virulent  detractors  of  the  little 
god  have  never  charged  him  with  being 
lame.  Friendship,  on  the  contrary,  is 
clearer  sighted,  but  her  approach  is  sel- 
dom swift.  She  stumbles  on  with  many 
a  halt,  but  her  eyes  are  sharp,  if  her  feet 
are  clumsy  ;  and  when  she  has  made  sure 
that  there  are  no  more  brambles  and  pit- 
falls in  the  way,  she  reaches  her  goal  at 
last.  Love,  because  of  his  blindness,  takes 
no  heed  of  obstructions,  but  rushes  to  his 
destination  with  feverish  haste  and  out- 
strips the  laggard  friendship. 

Mr.  Bainbridge  was  in  love ;  he  had  a 
friendly  feeling  for  Carrie  Swift,  but  he 
loved  Ethel  Sandford.  He  had  known 
85 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

Carrie  intimately  for  the  past  three 
months,  and  he  had  talked  for  three 
hours  with  Ethel. 

The  week  after  the  lawn  party,  Miss 
Sandford  came  to  the  Swifts'  to  make  a 
visit.  The  professor  had  thought  it  im- 
possible to  cancel  his  engagement  to  go 
to  the  Rangeley  Lakes,  but  he  contrived 
to  do  it  with  apparent  ease,  and  stayed  on 
in  Longfield. 

One  evening  after  Ethel  had  been  for 
two  or  three  weeks  at  the  Swifts'  house, 
the  professor  came  back  from  a  drive,  — 
having  left  her  and  Mrs.  Swift  at  the  other 
end  of  the  town,  where  they  wanted  to 
make  a  call,  —  to  find  Carrie  sitting  on 
the  front  porch  with  her  knitting.  He 
seated  himself  by  her  side,  partly  through 
remorse,  for  he  had  forgotten  her  exist- 
ence of  late,  and  partly  for  want  of  a  bet- 
ter occupation. 

"  Have  you  had  a  pleasant  drive  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"Very,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  con- 
sciousness of  how  much  greater  the  plea- 
sure had  been  than  when  she  was  his 
companion. 

86 


COMMONPLACE   CARRIE 

•'Whom  did  you  see?"  Carrie  in- 
quired. 

"No  one." 

"  And  you  actually  went  all  the  way 
to  South  Swanset  without  seeing  a  liv- 
ing soul?"  she  demanded  playfully.  "I 
suppose  you  were  too  much  absorbed  in 
philosophy  to  notice  such  trifles  as  peo- 
ple." 

"  We  were  absorbed  in  wondering  who 
lived  in  the  different  houses,  and  what 
sort  of  lives  they  led,"  said  the  professor 
with  asperity. 

"  If  I  had  been  there  I  could  have  told 
you,"  said  Carrie.  "  What  especial  houses 
were  you  interested  in  ?  " 

He  described  one. 

"  Abijah  Patten,  who  used  to  be  our 
butterman,  has  just  moved  there.  Mother 
ought  to  have  known  that.  His  sister  is 
a  bony  old  maid  of  fifty,  —  I  know  I  shall 
look  like  her  some  day,  —  and  she  is  as 
sharp  as  vinegar,  but  she  makes  good 
butter.  That  is  a  nice  old  farmhouse, 
though ;  if  we  were  very  poor  I  would  n't 
mind  living  there." 

"  Would  n't  you  ?  Miss  Sandford  won- 
87 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

dered  how  any  one  could  endure  life  in 
such  a  lonely  place." 

"  I  could  be  happy  anywhere  with  father 
and  mother  and  the  children,  and  work 
enough  to  keep  me  busy." 

"  I  really  believe  you  could,"  said  the 
professor,  with  a  smile.  "  You  agree  with 
me  in  thinking  that  place  makes  little  dif- 
ference in  happiness.  I  could  be  happy 
anywhere  with  one  or  two  chosen  friends 
and  plenty  of  books." 

"  Yes,"  she  responded,  "  if  you  had  a 
few  cartloads  of  books  and  some  one  whose 
character  you  could  study,  I  believe  you 
would  be  happy  at  the  north  pole ;  only 
the  person  would  have  to  be  changed  for  a 
new  one  as  soon  as  you  had  made  out  his 
character." 

"  You  are  unfair,  Miss  Carrie  ;  whatever 
my  attitude  may  be  to  the  world  at  large, 
I  am  capable  of  strong  attachments,  as  my 
friends  can  testify." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  your  friends,"  she 
mused.  "  One  of  them  is  the  gentleman 
you  have  had  so  many  letters  from,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  Yes.  The  others  are  out  of  my  reach 
88 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

at  present ;  one  is  in  California,  the  other 
in  Japan." 

"  Have  n't  you  but  three  friends  ?  " 

"  Not  according  to  the  best  definition  of 
the  word.  Are  there  so  many  persons  for 
whom  you  would  be  willing  to  make  any 
sacrifice,  and  whom  you  can  depend  upon 
in  return,  that  you  think  three  friends 
such  a  small  number  ?  " 

"There  is  a  great  difference  between 
being  willing  to  do  things  for  people,  and 
having  them  ready  to  do  things  for  you," 
she  said  slowly,  bending  her  head  over  her 
knitting. 

"  In  a  perfect  friendship  each  must  be 
equally  willing  to  help." 

Carrie  was  silent ;  she  wondered  if,  when 
the  professor  had  asked  her  to  be  his 
friend,  he  had  meant  anything  so  great 
as  this ;  but  her  common  sense  told  her 
directly  that  he  must  have  had  in  mind 
only  the  usual  definition  of  the  word, 
or  he  could  not  have  forgotten  that  con- 
versation. Why  had  Ethel  come  just  as 
the  professor  had  begun  to  be  so  kind? 
Ethel  had  such  hosts  of  friends  that  one 
more  or  less  could  make  little  difference 
89 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

in  her  life.  Carrie's  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  she  reflected  that  there  was  not  a  per- 
son who  would  think  of  making  any  sac- 
rifice for  her  outside  of  her  own  family 
circle,  whereas  there  were  many  people 
for  whom  she  would  be  willing  to  do  the 
smallest  thing,  or  the  greatest,  —  and  Mr. 
Bainbridge  was  among  them.  She  thought 
that  if  she  had  planned  the  world  she 
would  have  made  the  plain,  uninterest- 
ing people  without  any  heart,  and  then 
they  would  not  have  minded  having  no 
friends. 

"  Suppose  we  walk  to  the  other  end  of 
the  village  to  meet  your  mother  and  Miss 
Sandford  ?  "  suggested  the  professor. 
Carrie  was  silent. 
"  Won't  you  come  ?  "  he  persisted. 
She  shook  her  head  and  went  quickly 
into  the  house ;  he  followed  her  and  the 
sound  of  a  suppressed  sob  met  his  ear. 

"Miss  Carrie,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  he 
asked  stupidly. 

"I  have  a  bad  headache,  and  am  too 
tired  to  go  to  walk,  so  I  will  say  good- 
night." 

He  took  her  hand  kindly,  and  said  in 
90 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

soothing  tones  :  "You  must  take  care  of 
yourself  or  you  will  break  down,  and  then 
what  should  we  all  do  ?  " 

Carrie  snatched  away  her  hand  and 
impatiently  turned  to  go  upstairs. 

"  You  must  come  to  drive  with  us  to- 
morrow night,"  he  continued.  "  You 
shall  sit  on  the  front  seat  with  me  and 
point  out  all  the  people  we  meet,  and  give 
me  their  family  histories,  and  tell  me  who 
lives  in  all  the  different  houses." 

This  speech  exasperated  her  past  en- 
durance. "  You  are  very  good,"  she 
said  in  an  icy  tone,  "  but  has  it  never 
occurred  to  you  that  even  your  society 
may  not  satisfy  every  one  at  all  times  as 
completely  as  you  think  ?  " 

She  disappeared  into  the  house,  leav- 
ing Mr.  Bainbridge  deeply  aggrieved ;  yet 
strange  to  say,  what  pained  him  most  was 
the  fear  that  she  might  be  echoing  Miss 
Sandford's  sentiments,  —  for  Carrie  had 
been  very  friendly  with  him  once.  He 
asked  himself  why  he  should  be  thus 
cruelly  pained  at  the  thought  that  Miss 
Sandford  did  not  like  him  ;  for  it  was  not 
a  new  one,  —  he  had  often  felt  sure  that 
91 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

she  was  merely  amusing  herself  with  him 
as  she  had  done  with  a  score  of  others. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  study  character, 
but  it  is  not  so  agreeable  to  encounter  a 
fellow-student  in  that  branch  of  sociology, 
who  is  bent  upon  remorselessly  dissecting 
one's  own  traits.  "  I  have  no  doubt  that 
she  makes  the  same  satirical,  lazy  com- 
ments about  me  which  she  treats  me  to 
whenever  her  Longfield  friends  come  up 
for  discussion,"  he  thought. 

Spring  had  lingered  in  Longfield,  but 
as  if  to  make  up  for  loss  of  time,  summer 
departed  with  uncompromising  swiftness. 
Autumn  had  come,  and  was  flaunting  its 
badges  on  every  hillside  and  in  all  the 
valleys.  The  world  was  yellow  and  red 
and  russet  brown  with  the  changing 
leaves.  The  little  town  was  transformed, 
and  every  roadside,  however  insignificant, 
was  a  garden  for  a  brief  season.  The 
fringed  -  gentian  lifted  its  modest  head 
and  caught  the  hue  of  the  sky,  and  the 
purple  aster  subdued  the  otherwise  too 
brilliant  coloring  of  the  sumach  bushes 
and  the  omnipresent  goldenrod. 

Mr.  Bainbridge's  departure  came  with 
92 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

that  of  the  summer;  his  last  day  had 
actually  arrived. 

Longfield,  as  it  may  be  imagined,  had 
been  in  a  state  of  suspense  throughout 
the  past  two  months  with  regard  to  the 
professor's  "  intentions ;  "  and  on  this 
evening  as  Mrs.  Brown  and  Miss  Har- 
wood  wended  their  way  to  Mrs.  Swift's 
house,  he  was  under  discussion. 

"  The  little  heart  he  has,"  said  Mrs. 
Brown,  "  is  evidently  at  Ethel  Sandford's 
disposal.  If  I  were  in  his  place  I  should 
marry  Carrie  Swift.  Ethel  is  a  very 
good  sort  of  girl  to  be  in  love  with,  but 
for  daily  home  comfort,  give  me  honest, 
simple  little  Carrie." 

"  Mr.  Bainbridge  would  be  quite  will- 
ing to  let  you  have  her,  Sophie,"  Miss 
Harwood  returned.  "  What  would  he  do 
with  a  wife  who  could  not  sympathize 
with  his  intellectual  tastes  sufficiently  to 
treat  the  thirteenth  century  with  anything 
but  levity  ?  " 

"  A  man  has  other  tastes  besides  intel- 
lectual ones,  and  he  cannot  dine  on  the 
thirteenth  century,"  Mrs.  Brown  retorted. 

They  had  reached  the  Swifts'  gate ; 
93 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

when  they  entered  the  house  a  moment 
later,  they  found  the  professor  sitting  with 
Ethel  and  Carrie  in  the  front  parlor. 
The  girls  were  sewing,  and  he  was  read- 
ing aloud  to  them. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  come  to  beg  clothes 
for  a  certain  poor  family  for  whose  needs 
she  had  so  much  practical  sympathy  that 
the  just  professor  was  forced  to  admit 
that  even  she  had  her  virtues.  He  was 
unreasonably  angry  with  Ethel,  however, 
for  treating  her  with  distinguished  cor- 
diality, when  she  had  joined  with  him  the 
moment  before  her  entrance  in  an  unspar- 
ing dissection  of  her  faults. 

Ethel  was  making  some  buttonholes  in 
a  pink  cashmere  waist,  which  she  pre- 
sently handed  to  Carrie,  saying  that  she 
would  accept  her  offer  gratefully,  as  she 
hated  to  make  buttonholes. 

"  It  is  convenient  to  have  a  friend  al- 
ways ready  to  do  the  disagreeable  things 
for  one,"  Mrs.  Brown  said. 

"  But  I  like  to  make  buttonholes,"  pro- 
tested Carrie. 

"  Nevertheless,  we  cannot  always  escape 
unpleasant  things,"  Mrs.  Brown  continued 
94 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

remorselessly,  "  good  -  bys,  for  instance. 
We  shall  all  miss  you,  Professor  Bain- 
bridge,"  and  she  extended  her  hand  to 
him,  "  but  these  young  ladies  will  feel 
your  loss  greatly."  She  spoke  collectively, 
but  she  looked  at  Ethel. 

"Yes,"  Ethel  returned  indifferently, 
but  with  heightened  color,  "  we  shall  miss 
Professor  Bainbridge  ;  it  is  always  a  pity 
to  end  a  pleasant  acquaintance.  I  sup- 
pose you  know  that  I  am  to  stay  with  the 
Swifts  until  Christmas,  and  that  two  pa- 
tients are  coming  here  from  the  Sanita- 
rium next  week  ?  So  the  house  will  be 
fuller  than  ever." 

"  And  you  are  here  to  speed  the  part- 
ing and  welcome  the  coming  guest,  Miss 
Ethel,"  Mrs.  Brown  said,  by  way  of  a 
gracious  farewell,  as  she  and  Miss  Har- 
wood  took  their  leave. 

Carrie  saw  a  pained  expression  on  the 
professor's  face,  and  hastened  to  observe 
with  warmth,  "  We  shall  all  miss  you 
dreadfully,  Mr.  Bainbridge,  and  the  new 
people  won't  in  the  least  take  your  place." 

He  gave  her  a  grateful  look ;  in  a  mo- 
ment he  had  conjured  up  a  vision  of  the 
95 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

ideal  woman  who  should  have  Carrie's 
transparent  sincerity,  unswerving  loyalty, 
and  unselfishness,  joined  to  Ethel's  beauty 
and  fascination.  But  alas !  in  this  im- 
perfect world  the  man  with  keen  insight 
into  character  never  comes  across  those 
perfect  combinations  which  his  vivid  im- 
agination invents,  and  his  less  discern- 
ing brethren  think  that  they  have  found ; 
and  there  are  moments  when  the  com- 
pensation of  being  able  to  see  the  good 
points  in  a  Mrs.  Brown  cannot  make  up 
to  him  for  feeling  the  flaws  in  those  he 
loves. 

After  their  guests  had  departed,  Ethel 
rose  quickly  and,  seating  herself  at  the 
piano,  she  played  one  piece  after  another 
at  the  professor's  request.  There  was  a 
minor  strain  in  them  all.  Carrie  grew 
more  and  more  restless  and  sad  as  she  lis- 
tened, until  she  could  bear  it  no  longer ; 
she  did  not  know  what  troubled  her,  but 
she  had  suddenly  become  aware  of  the 
misery  in  the  world.  How  could  Ethel 
help  loving  him?  And  since  she  did 
not,  why  must  she  increase  his  pain  by 
playing  this  heart-breaking  music,  and  by 
96 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

looking  so  wonderfully  lovely  in  her  white 
gown,  with  the  candlelight  shining  on  her 
golden  -  brown  hair,  and  the  deepening 
color  in  her  cheeks. 

u  Have  I  played  all  your  favorites  to 
you  now  ? "  Ethel  asked  after  a  time. 
"  It  is  your  last  chance."  She  cast  down 
her  eyes,  and  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I 
hope  we  shall  not  lose  sight  of  you  for- 
ever." 

"  Forever !  "  exclaimed  the  professor 
impetuously,  his  resentment  and  doubts 
alike  forgotten. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Carrie  left 
the  room.  She  waited  in  the  dark,  up- 
stairs, for  a  long  time.  At  length  Ethel 
came. 

She  moved  softly,  for  she  thought  that 
Carrie  was  asleep. 

"  You  can  light  the  candle,  Ethel ;  I 
have  not  gone  to  bed,  I  am  over  here  on 
the  sofa,"  Carrie  said.  Ethel  crossed  the 
room,  and  taking  a  seat  by  her  friend's 
side,  she  felt  for  her  hand.  This  unusual 
demonstration  gave  Carrie  a  sudden  pang. 

"  Carrie,  how  do  you    like   Mr.  Bain- 
bridge  ?  "  Ethel  asked  abruptly. 
97 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

"  Very  much,  but  it  would  be  more  to 
the  purpose  if  I  were  to  ask  you  how  you 
like  him." 

Ethel  was  silent  a  moment ;  then  she 
said,  with  a  thrill  in  her  voice  that  Carrie 
never  forgot,  "  How  do  I  like  him  ?  Very 
well, —  that  is,  —  to-night-  I  am  en- 
gaged to  him." 

There  was  a  dull  pain  at  Carrie's  heart 
all  the  next  day,  which  grew  more  in- 
tense as  the  hour  for  Mr.  Bainbridge's 
departure  approached.  She  was  too  busy 
all  the  morning  to  allow  herself  the  luxury 
of  thought.  In  the  afternoon  the  house 
was  overrun  with  people  ;  there  were  vis- 
itors in  the  parlor  and  children  every- 
where else.  She  went  into  the  garden, 
but  retreated  quickly,  for  Ethel  and  the 
professor  were  in  the  summer  -  house. 
Then  she  wended  her  way  to  the  barn  to 
tell  Jerry  to  be  sure  to  harness  the  horse 
in  time  for  Mr.  Bainbridge,  who  was  to 
leave  on  the  five  o'clock  train.  Yielding 
to  a  sudden  impulse  she  climbed  up  into 
the  loft  and  settled  herself  comfortably  in 
the  hay  as  she  used  to  do  when  she  was 
a  little  girl.  She  wished  she  were  a  little 
98 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

girl  now ;  life  was  hard  for  grown-up 
people. 

Why  was  it  she  did  not  rejoice  in 
Ethel's  engagement  ?  she  asked  herself. 
What  did  these  strange  feelings  mean  ? 
Surely  she  had  never  fancied  in  her 
wildest  dreams  that  Mr.  Bainbridge  might 
love  herself.  Her  face  grew  hot  at  the 
thought.  Then  why  was  she  not  glad 
that  he  was  to  marry  her  friend  ?  She 
was  a  selfish,  jealous  girl,  for  she  would 
have  liked  to  keep  his  friendship  exclu- 
sively. For  a  moment  she  let  herself  im- 
agine what  it  would  be  to  have  his  love 
when  she  had  found  the  crumbs  of  kind- 
liness which  had  fallen  to  her  share  so 
pleasant ;  for  a  moment  she  felt  how  she 
might  have  loved  him  ;  then  she  dismissed 
such  reflections  as  useless.  He  and  Ethel 
were  happy,  and  it  was  right  that  they 
should  be  so,  for  he  loved  her,  and  she 
was  beautiful  and  good.  "  Much  better 
than  I  am,"  thought  poor  Carrie.  "  I  am 
not  only  plain  and  tiresome,  but  horrid 
too." 

Through  the  open  doors  of  the  barn  she 
could  see  Mrs.  Brown  and  Miss  Harwood 
99 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

walking  down  the  village  street  and  paus- 
ing to  talk  to  her  uncle,  the  doctor,  who 
was  just  going  into  the  sanitarium.  It 
was  what  had  happened  a  hundred  times 
before,  and  it  had  seemed  sufficiently 
interesting  once ;  but  now  it  was  inexpres- 
sibly dreary  to  think  of  the  days  stretch- 
ing on  interminably  with  only  such  events 
in  them  for  her. 

"  I  wonder  what  I  was  put  into  the 
world  for  ?  "  she  thought.  "  And  the  worst 
of  it  is,  I  am  not  the  only  one ;  I  could 
bear  it  better  if  I  were.  There  must  be 
thousands  of  commonplace  people  like  me, 
who  are  not  interesting  enough  to  be 
fallen  in  love  with,  but  who  have  hearts 
of  their  own  just  the  same.  Of  course 
they  can't  get  what  they  want,  and  all 
they  can  do  is  to  try  to  be  glad  that  some 
people  can.  After  all  it  is  true,  what  Mr. 
Bainbridge  said  the  other  night  when  I 
got  so  angry,  —  that  I  am  of  use  in  this 
family.  I  suppose  some  people  are  needed 
just  to  fill  up  gaps  and  make  it  easier  for 
the  others.  That  idea  ought  to  content 
me,  but  somehow  it  doesn't.  Well,  any 
way,  I  am  glad  for  them." 
100 


COMMONPLACE  CARRIE 

When  she  reached  the  house,  the  car- 
riage that  was  to  take  Mr.  Bainbridge  to 
the  depot  was  standing  at  the  door,  and 
he  was  about  to  help  in  Ethel,  who  was 
to  drive  him  to  the  station.  Carrie  went 
up  to  them  and  extended  both  her  hands 
impulsively. 

"  I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  congratu- 
late you  together  before,"  she  said,  "  but 
I  am  so  very,  very  glad." 

They  took  her  sympathy  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  were  too  much  absorbed 
in  their  happiness  to  notice  the  expres- 
sion that  for  a  moment  glorified  her  plain 
face. 

"  Fortunate  people  !  "  Carrie  thought  as 
they  drove  away.  "  It  can't  be  very  hard 
for  them  to  part,  for  they  belong  to  each 
other." 

She  stood  watching  them  until  they 
were  out  of  sight,  and  then  she  went  into 
the  house,  to  mend  and  put  away  the 
clean  clothes. 

101 


A  BISMAECK  DINNER 

THE  celebrated  historian,  Julius  Frank- 
lin, was  to  deliver  his  lecture  on  Bis- 
marck, in  the  Town  Hall  at  Eastville,  on 
the  twenty-third  of  January,  and  he  was  to 
spend  the  night  with  the  Frank  Morses. 

Mrs.  Morse  was  a  pretty  little  thing, 
who  won  from  her  serious  neighbors  when 
she  came  as  a  bride  to  Eastville,  first,  an 
amused  tolerance,  and  later,  a  sincere  af- 
fection ;  for  despite  the  general  opinion,  a 
pretty  woman,  if  she  is  also  good-natured, 
makes  her  way  more  readily  than  a  plain 
one  with  her  own  sex  as  well  as  with  men. 
As  Jjlastville  was  a  New  England  town  it 
is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  it  was  pop- 
ulated chiefly  with  Mrs.  Morse's  sex.  The 
women  were  for  the  most  part  studious 
and  thoughtful,  taking  life  seriously,  as  if 
they  felt  it  incumbent  upon  them  to  culti- 
vate their  minds  to  the  utmost,  that  the 
usual  ill  effects  of  the  scarcity  of  the  mas- 
102 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

culine  element  might  be  reduced  to  their 
minimum.  The  work  done  in  the  Ladies' 
Literary  Guild  was  therefore  of  a  thor- 
ough quality.  Every  winter  the  researches 
of  this  society  were  supplemented  with  a 
course  of  lectures  given  by  literary  lights 
from  the  outer  world,  but  Julius  Franklin's 
fame  as  surely  eclipsed  that  of  his  predeces- 
sors as  sunlight  eclipses  candlelight.  It 
was  therefore  small  wonder  that  the  usu- 
ally dauntless  Edith  Morse  was  frightened 
when  she  thought  of  the  rapidly  approach- 
ing twenty-third  of  January. 

One  morning  she  entered  the  library 
where  her  husband  was.  comfortably  en- 
sconced in  his  leathern  armchair  before 
the  open  fire,  with  a  pile  of  law  books  on 
a  table  near  at  hand. 

"  Frank,"  she  began,  "  I  am  sorry  to 
interrupt  you,  but  you  must  help  me,  for 
Bismarck  is  more  important  than  law." 

"  That  is  certainly  his  own  opinion,  my 
dear,"  Mr.  Morse  returned,  putting  down, 
not  Blackstone,  but  one  of  Gaboriau's 
novels. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  to  have 
for  dinner  on  the  twenty-third,"  Edith 
103 


A  BISMAKCK  DINNER 

proceeded.  "  The  dreadful  day  will  be 
here  in  a  week.  What  do  you  suppose 
a  lecturer  on  Bismarck  would  like  for 
dinner  ?  " 

"  You  might  give  him  the  Diet  of 
Frankfort ;  he  would  be  sure  to  feel  at 
home  then." 

"Frank,  it  is  cruel  of  you  to  joke  in 
this  way,"  she  remonstrated;  "this  is  a 
serious  matter." 

"  Happily  everything  is  a  serious  mat- 
ter with  you,  Edith,  my  love.  It  is  an 
immense  comfort  to  me  that  I  have  mar- 
ried a  woman  who  takes  life  thoughtfully. 
I  must  confess,  however,  that  your  pretty 
clothes  and  your  beauty  are  a  drawback  ; 
they  create  a  false  impression  at  the  start, 
making  one  feel  that  you  are  only  a  but- 
terfly." 

"  Frank,"  she  continued,  ignoring  this 
remark,  "  don't  you  think  that  it  will  be 
best  to  have  dinner  at  half-past  four,  as 
Mr.  Franklin  is  coming  on  the  half-past 
three  train  ?  If  we  had  a  six  o'clock  din- 
ner he  would  be  almost  famished  by  that 
time ;  and  as  everybody  dines  at  one 
o'clock  here,  it  won't  be  any  queerer  to 
104 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

have  dinner  at  half-past  four  than  at  six. 
I  wish  I  could  think  of  something  original 
to  eat." 

"  Why  not  have  it  a  Bismarck  dinner  ? 
Pink  teas  are  all  the  rage,  but  a  Bismarck 
dinner  in  Bismarck-brown  would  be  some- 
thing new." 

"  The  very  thing !  "  Edith  exclaimed, 
and  she  kissed  her  husband  with  raptur- 
ous effusion.  "  Who  but  you  would  have 
thought  of  such  a  lovely  idea !  After  all, 
in  spite  of  Miss  Elliott,  I  do  believe  that 
men  have  more  brain  than  women." 

Frank  Morse  had  thrown  out  his  sug- 
gestion by  way  of  the  wildest  joke  ;  but  if 
a  man  has  married  a  woman  who  regards 
his  lightest  word  with  veneration  he  must 
take  the  consequences. 

"  A  Bismarck  dinner  will  be  perfectly 
charming,"  said  Edith.  "I  can  have 
black  bean  soup  for  the  first  course  — 
that  is  n't  just  the  shade,  but  it  is  near 
enough  to  pass  —  and  some  kind  of  fried 
fish  afterwards  ;  then  grouse  and  potato 
balls,  —  I  shall  have  to  omit  the  jelly  and 
the  salad  too,  —  and  then  chocolate  ice- 
cream, and  after  that,  fruit.  What  fruit 
105 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

is  there  that  is  brown?  Oh,  yes,  nuts, 
nuts  and  —  I  can't  have  raisins  —  well, 
nuts,  all  by  themselves,  and  to  wind  up 
with  —  coffee.  Who  could  help  liking- 
such  a  menu?  Then  to  make  the  table 
look  pretty  I  will  paint  dinner-cards  with 
appropriate  designs." 

"  The  Battle  of  Kbniggratz  would  be  an 
easy  illustration  to  begin  with,"  her  hus- 
band suggested. 

"  Frank,  how  can  you  propose  such  im- 
possible things  !  How  many  people  ought 
we  to  ask,  do  you  think  ?  I  can't  invite 
the  whole  guild,  because  there  are  twenty 
of  them ;  and  besides,  I  should  like  for 
once  to  have  an  even  number  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen." 

"  Then  your  dinner-party  will  limit  it- 
self." 

"  I  think  ten  people  will  be  enough," 
she  said,  as  she  flitted  away  to  look 
through  the  Life  of  Bismarck  for  ideas 
for  her  dinner-cards. 

Mrs.  Morse  was  supposed  to  have  read 

two   lives   of    her   hero,   besides   several 

magazine  articles  on  the  subject ;  but  as 

she  believed   in   judicious   skipping,  the 

106 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

chief  events  in  Bismarck's  life  were  some- 
what vague  in  her  mind.  She  wanted  an 
allusion  to  each  of  these  on  the  dinner- 
cards.  She  knew  that  the  acquisition  of 
Schleswig  and  Holstein  was  one  of  the 
important  facts  in  his  career,  but  how  the 
annexation  of  that  territory  came  about 
was  not  clear  to  her.  Her  impression  was 
briefly  this :  Bismarck  wanted  the  pro- 
vinces, and  somehow  or  other  he  obtained 
them ;  and  it  is  possible  that  this  con- 
densed summary  of  the  facts  was  not  so 
unlike  the  knowledge  of  her  superiors 
in  quality  as  in  quantity.  She  was  also 
aware  that  there  had  been  a  war  between 
Prussia  and  Austria,  but  she  had  not  the 
smallest  idea  what  it  was  about  or  which 
side  was  victorious,  and  neither  could  she 
tell  the  direct  cause  of  the  Franco-Prus- 
sian war,  although  she  had  an  indistinct 
idea  that  either  Spain  or  Italy  was  mixed 
up  with  it. 

If  Edith  Morse's  information  concern- 
ing the  principal  events  in  her  favorite's 
career  was  slight,  on  the  other  hand  she 
had  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  him 
on  the  personal  side.  She  thought  him  a 
107 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

charming  brother  and  a  delightful  hus- 
band, and  she  wished  that  Frank  would 
take  pattern  by  him  and  present  his  wife 
with  an  opal  heart.  It  was  also  firmly 
impressed  upon  her  mind  that  once  when 
the  Ex-Chancellor  was  a  student,  he 
taught  punctuality  to  his  shoemaker  by 
sending  a  commissionnaire,  at  six  o'clock 
in  the  morning  of  the  day  when  his  boots 
were  promised  him,  to  inquire  if  they 
were  done,  and  when  he  found,  according 
to  his  expectations,  that  this  was  not  the 
case,  that  he  sent  messenger  after  mes- 
senger at  intervals  of  half  an  hour,  until 
the  frantic  shoemaker  finished  the  boots 
in  season  to  be  worn  to  a  party  that  even- 
ing. Unfortunately  these  facts  did  not 
lend  themselves  kindly  to  decorative  pur- 
poses. An  opal  heart  on  a  dinner-card 
might  be  subject  to  misinterpretation,  and 
a  pair  of  boots  could  not  be  made  artistic. 
At  last,  in  despair,  Edith  implored  her 
husband  to  design  the  dinner-cards. 

He  promptly  suggested,  as  a  motto  for 

the   first   course,    "  Bismarck    is   in    the 

soup,"  but  his  wife  frowned   upon   him, 

and,  gathering  her  books  of  reference  to- 

108 


A  BISMARCK   DINNER 

gether,  she  placed  them  in  a  pile  before 
him. 

"'  You  must  not  stir  from  this  spot  un- 
til you  have  found  me  suitable  mottoes," 
she  commanded. 

"  Here  is  a  good  motto  for  your  course 
of  nuts,  which,  it  must  be  owned,  seems 
rather  slender  without  raisins,"  he  said 
presently  in  triumph.  "  You  will  only 
have  to  quote  Bismarck's  memorable 
words,  '  Far  from  sufficient.'  " 

At  this  juncture  Miss  Elliott  was  op- 
portunely announced,  and  Edith  went  into 
the  parlor  to  relate  her  trials  to  her.  She 
was  a  clever,  sarcastic  woman,  whose  chief 
ambition  was  to  know  distinguished  peo- 
ple, and  who  was  consequently  much 
gratified  at  receiving  an  invitation  to 
dine  with  the  illustrious  Mr.  Franklin. 

"  It  will  be  a  rare  treat,  my  dear,"  she 
said.  "  And  it  was  very  sweet  of  you  to 
think  of  including  me." 

Edith  proceeded  to  confide  her  plans 
for  the  dinner-cards  to  her  friend,  who  at 
once  solved  her  difficulties  by  suggesting 
that  she  should  paint  the  trefoil  and  the 
oak-leaves  on  the  Bismarck  coat-of-arms, 
109 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

in  sepia,  in  the  right-hand  corner  of  each 
card,  and  tie  a  bow  of  Bismarck-brown 
ribbon  in  the  left-hand  corner. 

"  Dear  Miss  Elliott,"  cried  Edith  with 
enthusiasm,  "  you  are  an  angel.  You 
shall  sit  next  to  Mr.  Franklin  at  dinner, 
and  ask  him  questions  on  every  subject." 

She  thought  it  safest  to  generalize. 

"  I  have  heard  from  my  friends  the 
Ainsworths  that  Mr.  Franklin  is  a  bril- 
liant talker,  and  a  mine  of  information," 
said  her  visitor.  "  I  am  impatient  for 
next  Friday  to  arrive." 

Poor  Mrs.  Morse  did  not  share  this 
impatience,  but  trembled  more  and  more 
as  the  dreaded  day  approached. 

It  came  at  last,  bringing  the  distin- 
guished stranger  with  it. 

Mr.  Franklin  was  an  angular  little 
man  of  about  fifty-five,  with  grizzled  hair 
and  small  gray  eyes  which  looked  irritably 
at  the  world  through  a  pair  of  gold-bowed 
spectacles. 

As  Mrs.  Morse  showed  him  to  his  room 
she  remarked  that  dinner  would  be  ready 
in  half  an  hour. 

The  guests  arrived  with  commendable 
110 


promptness  and  began  at  once  to  adapt 
their  conversation  to  the  great  occasion. 

"  I  understand  that  you  have  made  a 
thorough  study  of  Bismarck,  Mrs.  Morse," 
said  Mr.  Parke,  a  young  man  who  was 
deeply  interested  in  German  history. 

Edith  glanced  at  the  clock.  It  was 
time  to  send  the  maid  to  let  Mr.  Franklin 
know  that  dinner  was  ready. 

"  Bismarck  seems  to  me  a  remarkably 
charming  person,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty 
little  air  of  authority.  "  It  was  a  sur- 
prise to  me  to  find  that  he  was  so  lovable 
in  his  family." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  him  as  an  in- 
dividual, but  as  a  factor  in  history,"  Mr. 
Parke  rejoined.  "  It  would  be  interest- 
ing to  look  ahead  fifty  years  to  see 
whether  Germany's  progress  was  retarded 
or  advanced  by  his  measures.  What  is 
your  opinion  of  his  course  with  regard 
to  the  May  Laws  ?  " 

Edith  groped  vainly  in  her  memory  for 
some  facts  concerning  these  laws.  "  I 
think  his  connection  with  the  Franco- 
Prussian  war  was  more  noteworthy,"  she 
said,  with  one  of  her  charming  smiles. 
Ill 


A  BISMAKCK  DINNER 

"  Of  course.  Have  you  been  reading 
Busch  and  Lowe  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  you  must  remember  the  ac- 
count of  the  battle  of  Sedan,  and  the 
interview  between  Napoleon  and  Bis- 
marck afterwards.  Is  it  not  exceedingly 
vivid?" 

"  Very  vivid,"  she  said  fervently,  al- 
though all  that  she  could  remember  about 
it  was  that  the  Emperor  wore  white  kid 
gloves  and  was  smoking  a  cigarette. 
"  Excuse  me  for  a  moment,"  she  added 
hastily,  as  she  went  to  tell  Agatha  to 
summon  Mr.  Franklin. 

Upon  her  return  to  the  parlor  she 
seated  herself  at  the  other  side  of  the 
room  from  the  terrifying  Mr.  Parke,  but 
he  crossed  over  and  continued  the  in- 
terrupted conversation.  Fortunately  for 
those  people  whose  aim  it  is  to  go  through 
life  without  exposing  their  ignorance  there 
is  an  equally  large  class  of  persons  whose 
chief  desire  is  to  show  their  knowledge. 

Mr.  Parke  was  a  member  of  this  fra- 
ternity, and  his  companion's  interest  was 
sufficient  to  encourage  him  to  expound 
112 


A   BISMARCK   DINNER 

his  views  on  State  Socialism  at  great 
length. 

"  Bismarck  is  a  wonderful  man,"  she 
said  sapiently,  in  a  pause  which  demanded 
some  remark  from  her. 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  he  should  have  grown 
so  garrulous  in  his  old  age,"  Mr.  Parke 
observed. 

Edith  knew  nothing  about  the  latter 
part  of  Bismarck's  career,  for  the  "  lives  " 
had  stopped  short  of  this  period,  but, 
given  the  smallest  cue,  this  young  woman 
could  improvise  her  part. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  elderly  people 
almost  always  become  garrulous  ? "  she 
asked,  with  a  confiding  smile. 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  tendency  of  old  age. 
What  do  you  think  of  Bismarck's  attitude 
toward  State  Socialism  ?  I  should  like 
to  know  what  an  intelligent  woman,  un- 
biased by  party  prejudice  and  untram- 
meled  by  previous  views,  would  make  of 
it." 

"  I  fear    I  am    not   unbiased,"    Edith 

said  hurriedly,  being  also  afraid  that  she 

was    not   an   intelligent  woman.     It  was 

quarter  of   five.     What   had  become   of 

113 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

Agatha?  Here  she  was  at  the  parlor 
door  now. 

"  You  must  have  some  opinion  of  Bis- 
marck's high-handed  course,"  Mr.  Parke 
urged. 

"  It  was,  as  you  say,  high  handed,  very 
high  handed,"  she  said,  as  she  abruptly 
left  the  room. 

"  Please,  ma'am,"  began  Agatha,  "  Mr. 
Franklin  is  a  little  deaf,  and  I  could  n't 
make  him  understand  at  first,  but  as  soon 
as  he  see  what  I  was  driving  at  he  said 
he  did  n't  want  any  dinner." 

Mrs.  Morse  looked  aghast.  "  What 
did  you  say  then  ?  "  she  asked  faintly. 

"  '  There  's  ladies  and  gentlemen  to 
meet  you,'  says  I,  '  and  they  '11  be  ter- 
rible disappointed.'  '  I  can't  help  that,' 
says  he,  '  I  want  to  read  over  my  lec- 
ture.' " 

Mrs.  Morse  returned  to  the  parlor  in  a 
subdued  frame  of  mind,  and  sent  her 
husband  to  cope  with  the  recreant  his- 
torian. He  returned,  after  a  brief  ab- 
sence, unattended.  She  met  him  in  the 
entry. 

"  Frank,"  she  said  reproachfully,  "  I 
114 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

told  you  to  be  sure  to  bring  Mr.  Frank- 
lin." 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear,  but  there  is  a 
limit  to  human  strength,  and  although  he 
is  small  he  must  weigh  at  least  a  hundred 
and  thirty-five  pounds." 

"  This  is  no  time  for  joking,"  she  ex- 
postulated in  tragic  tones.  "  Won't  he 
come  down  ?  " 

"  Not  for  me.  You  had  better  try  your 
powers  of  persuasion." 

They  ascended  the  stairs  together,  and 
Edith  knocked  boldly  on  the  historian's 
door. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  he  asked  gruffly. 

"Mrs.  Morse.  Mr.  Franklin,"  she 
added  in  her  blandest  tones,  as  he  opened 
the  door,  "  I  know  how  kind  you  are  and 
that  you  are  always  ready  to  do  a  good 
turn  for  people.  Please  put  yourself  in 
my  place.  I  had  dinner  at  this  strange 
hour  on  purpose  for  you  because  I  thought 
you  would  be  hungry,  and  I  have  asked 
several  friends  to  meet  you.  They  have 
heard  how  delightful  you  are  and  they 
will  never  forgive  me  if  they  don't  see 
you.  Fancy  dining  at  half-past  four  — 
115 


A  BISMARCK   DINNER 

when  we  all  dine  at  one  generally  —  and 
without  you.  It  is  worse  than  the  play 
of  Hamlet  with  the  ghost  left  out.  What 
are  you  laughing  at,  Frank  ?  Besides,  I 
have  arranged  a  little  surprise  for  you ; 
it  is  a  Bismarck  dinner." 

"  The  only  article  of  the  kind,  going  — 
going,"    her    husband    murmured    sotto 
voce. 

"  Madam,"  Mr.  Franklin  returned,  "  I 
am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  had  a 
hearty  lunch  on  the  train  at  my  usual 
dinner-hour.  I  have  to  be  very  careful  in 
my  diet,  and  therefore  I  can't  eat  any- 
thing now ;  but  if  you  will  give  me  a  glass 
of  milk  and  some  toast,  crisp  brown  toast, 
and  a  couple  of  baked  apples  at  half-past 
six  o'clock,  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  to 

you." 

"  But,'  Mr.  Franklin,  even  if  you  don't 
feel  like  eating  anything,  won't  you  sit 
at  the  table  and  talk  to  us  while  we  are 
at  dinner  ?  " 

"  My  dear  madam,  it  is  impossible,  for 
I  must  read  over  my  lecture." 

"Miss  Elliott  is  here,"  said  Edith, 
playing  her  last  card  ;  "  she  is  a  friend  of 
116 


A  BISMARCK   DINNER 

your  friends  the  Ainsworths.  Won't  you 
come  down  just  for  a  few  minutes  ?  "  she 
begged. 

"  My  dear  madam,  my  nerves  are  in  a 
sensitive  condition,  and  it  is  imperative 
for  me  to  have  utter  quiet  until  it  is  time 
for  my  lecture." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said,  and 
Mrs.  Morse  took  her  place  at  the  head  of 
the  dinner-table  in  an  unusually  chastened 
frame  of  mind,  opposite  her  husband,  who 
was  ostentatiously  merry,  while  the  seven 
guests  sipped  their  black  bean  soup,  and 
tried  to  look  as  if  they  dined  at  half-past 
four  every  day. 

After  the  tedious  meal  was  over  Edith 
had  to  give  the  historian  his  meagre  re- 
past. When  she  rejoined  her  guests  in 
the  parlor  she  was  besieged  with  a  flow 
of  questions. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  Was  he  very  in- 
teresting ?  Do  tell  us  the  whole  conver- 
sation? "  her  friends  demanded  eagerly. 

Edith  looked  up  demurely.  "  I  will 
tell  you  all  about  it,"  she  said  gravely. 

She  waited  until  the  faces  of  her  audi- 
tors had  assumed  the  requisite  amount  of 
117 


A  BISMARCK  DINNER 

rapt  attention,  and  then  she  began  her 
narrative.  "  He  said  first,  '  These  apples 
are  very  good,  Mrs.  Morse,  only  I  prefer 
them  cold.'  " 

"  Never  mind  these  irrelevant  details," 
said  Miss  Elliott  impatiently.  "  Go  on  to 
the  interesting  part." 

"  But  there  was  n't  any  interesting 
part ;  it  was  all  about  what  he  could  eat, 
and  what  he  could  n't  eat,  and  what  he 
would  like  to  eat  to-morrow." 

"  What  did  he  say  about  Bismarck  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Parke. 

"  Not  one  word.  It  was  heartless  of 
him  to  stay  in  his  room  and  spoil  my 
dinner,"  poor  Edith  added  plaintively. 

"  My  dear,  what  better  could  he  have 
done  ?  "  her  husband  inquired.  "  By 
reading  over  his  lecture  he  was  more  in 
harmony  with  the  occasion  than  he  could 
have  been  in  any  other  way." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  he  was  in  a  Bismarck-brown- 
study." 

118 


A   HAMERTON   TYPE-WRITER. 

RICHARD  COPLEY  ARMSTRONG,  the 
rising  young  novelist,  was  sitting  in  his 
study  in  an  attitude  of  profound  thought. 
So  absorbed  was  he,  as  he  bent  over  his 
type-writer,  that  he  did  not  hear  the  an- 
nouncement of  his  maid-of -all- work  that 
dinner  was  ready.  This  appellation,  by 
the  way,  is  scarcely  the  right  one  to  apply 
to  the  buxom  matron  of  fifty  who  stood  in 
the  doorway  with  her  arms  akimbo  and 
shouted,  "  Dinner,  dinner,  Mr.  Richard  !  " 

The  young  man  raised  his  head  at  last, 
and   said  thoughtfully,  "U,  I,  O,  P,  - 
that  stands  for  '  You  I  owe ;  patience.' ' 

"  He  's  gone  clean  daft  over  that  little 
machine  of  his'n,"  said  the  unsympathetic 
Mrs.  Bassett.  "  Patience  !  that  is  certainly 
just  what  is  needed  in  this  house  ;  but  as 
for  owing  me,  you  don't ;  you  paid  me 
every  stiver  of  my  wages  last  Saturday 
night." 

119 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

Mr.  Armstrong  bent  his  head  over  the 
type-writer  again,  and  murmured,  "  D,  F, 
G,  H  ;  or,  '  darned  fool,  go  home.'  Oh, 

1  had  forgotten  that  you  were  here,  Mrs. 
Bassett,"    he   said  good-naturedly.     He 
had  not  been  addressing  her,  —  he  was 
merely  trying  to  learn  the  alphabet  of  his 
type-writer,  by  associating  words  with  the 
letters. 

That  evening  he  struggled  for  a  long 
time  over  a  note  to  his  friend,  John  Law- 
son.  It  was  written  on  the  type-writer, 
and  ran  as  follows  :  — 

Dear  Hack, 

i  am  in  despaor/my  eyes  have  guvem  out 
utterly/  the  oxxulist  says  i  must  not  writ  one 
word,  i  infested  in  this  type-writer  at  his  sug- 
gestion bevause  i  am  in  the  niddle  of  my  novel 

2  AN   Experiment  in  CHArity  ?  "  and  the 
2Metroopolis  Maxagine  2is  awaiting  the  next 
chapter,     i  am  not  allowed  even  too  look  at 
what  i  writ  or  at  the  type  )  writer  ketters  then- 
selves,  but  am  lerning  to  use  the  mavine  as  the 
blinddo.     so  if  there  are  one  or  two  mistakes  in 
this  epistel   forgibe  them.     MRs.  BAssett  is 
too  illiter  ate  to  help  me.     i  have  learned  the 
letters  from  a  man  from  the  oggice  of  the  2Ham- 

120 


erton  type  )write2  so  alii  need  is  a  little  prac- 
tise ?  vut  it  has  taken  me  ||  hours  to  accom- 
plish this  brief  note,  for  the  love  of  heavem 
come  and  stay  with  me  and  be  my  ammen- 
nuensus  until  iget  the  nest  number  of  my  novek 
finixhed/ 

your  devoted  fiend  , 

richard  COpley  armstrong/ 

december  $th,  1  '  '  (/ 

He  received   the  following  answer  by 
return  of  mail :  — 

Dear  richard  :  — 

I  adopt  the  small  "  r  "  since  you 
so  evidently  prefer  it.  I  am  very,  very  sorry, 
my  poor,  devoted  "  fiend,"  but  your  dear  old 
"  literary  ?  "  hack  is  too  deep  in  his  own  work 
to  be  able  to  spare  any  time  for  you.  I  wish 
he  could.  I  will  suggest  that  you  get  a  pro- 
fessional type-writer  to  come  to  you  every  day 
until  your  novel  is  finished.  Don't  delude 
yourself,  my  dear  boy,  into  thinking  that  you 
will  be  able  to  do  work  fit  for  the  press,  on 
your  type-writer,  alone  and  unassisted. 
Regretfully  yours, 

JACK. 

P.  S.    The  date  of  your  letter  is  charmingly 
mysterious,  and  suggests  that  you  have  been 
sojourning  in  eternity  rather  than  time. 
121 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

As  the  outgrowth  of  the  proposition 
made  by  John  Lawson,  a  young  lady 
caine  every  morning  at  ten  o'clock  to  the 
study  of  Richard  Armstrong,  and  worked 
there  patiently  for  three  hours.  I  say 
patiently  advisedly ;  for  although  Richard 
was  generally  a  charming  companion  and 
was  thought  fascinating  by  all  women,  fas- 
cination is  not  a  quality  that  tells  in  a 
man  when  he  has  a  rooted  dislike  to  dic- 
tation and  a  nervous  temperament. 

After  a  week  of  progress  in  company 
with  the  amanuensis,  Richard  received  a 
letter  from  his  friend  containing  these  in- 
quiries :  — 

Why  do  you  never  mention  the  type- 
writer ?  Is  she  satisfactory  ? 

In  answer,  the  exasperated  Richard 
wrote  the  following  note  :  — 

Dear  Jack  :) 

Will  you  be  so  hood  as  to  remember  in  fu- 
ture that  i  am  not  allowed  to  use  my  eyes  at 
all,  and  so  canSt  read  my  motes.  Your  letters 
have  to  be  fead  to  me  either  by  the  type-write 
herself,  or  by  my  AUNT  Hainmah  whose 
house  i  am  manning  at  presemt.  This  excel- 
122 


A   HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

lent  lady  read  your  last  epidle  and  was  hoffi- 
foed.  AS  she  is  going  away  for  two  months 
miss  grey  will  read  the  others,  miss  GRey  is 
not  pretty.  She  is  nothing  but  a  machine,  a 
verry  usef ull  skilful  ?  and  caluable  Hamerton 
type-write,  but  no  more.  i  think  o  of  her  as 
a  part  of  the  mavhine  she  works.  It  is  a  sig- 
nitidant  fact  that  both  have  the  same  appella- 
ttion  ?  both  are  type-writes. 

Yours  in  great  haste, 

dick/ 

p/s/     Have  i  not  improved  greatly 
in  my  type-writing  ? 

DEcemberi&th. 

It  was  true  that  Miss  Grey  was  not 
pretty,  but  she  had  a  charming  face  and 
simple,  unobtrusive  manners.  She  came 
day  after  day  and  took  her  place  quietly 
in  Richard's  study,  never  talking  unless 
she  were  addressed,  but  when  she  was 
consulted  always  suggesting  some  way  of 
disentangling  the  knotty  problem  under 
discussion.  Her  voice  was  low  and  agree- 
able, and  she  was  altogether  a  pleasant 
feature  in  Richard's  solitary  life.  After 
a  time  he  grew  to  look  forward  to  her 
daily  appearance,  and  to  take  a  certain 
123 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

interest  in  her  personality.  He  could  not 
help  himself ;  every  woman  interested  him 
more  or  less,  from  his  great-aunt  down 
to  the  little  girl  who  brought  him  his 
weekly  washing.  Miss  Grey  was  far 
from  being  the  contemporary  of  his  aunt ; 
she  could  not  be  more  than  twenty-five  or 
six. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  Miss  Grey 
and  Mr.  Armstrong  had  accomplished  the 
number  of  his  novel  for  which  the  "  Metro- 
polis Magazine  "  had  been  waiting  so  im- 
patiently. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  not  want  me  any 
longer,"  she  said,  as  she  put  on  her  jacket 
and  gloves  preparatory  to  taking  her  de- 
parture. 

"  Indeed  I  shall ;  I  am  not  going  to  get 
myself  into  such  another  tight  box  with  my 
next  number.  I  shall  want  you  straight 
on  until  the  end  of  the  chapter  —  the 
novel,  I  mean." 

"  Monday  is  Christmas,"  she  reminded 
him,  "so  you  probably  will  not  care  to 
have  me  come  again  for  some  days.  I 
wish  you  a  very  merry  Christmas,"  she 
added,  as  she  extended  her  hand  to  him. 
124 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

"I  am  not  going  home,"  he  rejoined, 
keeping  her  hand  absently  in  his  for  a 
moment,  and  then  dropping  it  with  a  sigh ; 
"  and  I  shall  not  have  a  merry  Christmas, 
but  on  the  contrary  a  signally  dismal  one. 
Come  on  Christmas  and  help  me  to  get 
through  with  the  day,"  he  went  on  rapidly. 
He  could  see  that  her  eyes  were  beautiful 
as  well  as  kind,  as  she  raised  them  to  his 
with  a  questioning  glance. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  cannot  go  home," 
she  said. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  go  home,"  he  re- 
turned quickly ;  "  I  don't  want  to  be 
reminded  of  last  Christmas." 

Had  Miss  Grey  expressed  a  keen  inter- 
est in  his  revelations,  it  is  probable  that 
the  young  man  would  have  stopped  mak- 
ing them  ;  but  she  said  nothing  more,  and 
yet  he  knew  that  she  was  sorry  for  him, 
and  because  of  this  fact,  and  for  the  reason 
that  he  had  received  no  sympathy  for  a 
long  time,  he  felt  impelled  to  proceed. 

"Last  Christmas  I  was  engaged,"  he 
said,  "  but  the  girl  whom  I  was  to  marry 
has  married  another  man." 

Afterward  he  thought  what  a  fool  he 
125 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

had  been  to  tell  this  fact  in  his  history  to 
his  amanuensis;  and  why,  at  least,  could 
he  not  have  accomplished  the  feat  grace- 
fully, instead  of  blurting  it  out  in  that 
school-boy  fashion  ?  He  attacked  his  type- 
writer with  virulence.  D,  F,  stood  em- 
phatically for  what  he  was  himself,  and  it 
was  with  peculiar  satisfaction  that  he  said 
over  and  over  again,  "  Darned  fool,  darned 
fool,  go  home." 

His  studies  were  interrupted  at  this 
point  by  Mrs.  Bassett,  who  had  thrust 
her  bulky  person  into  the  range  of  his 
vision. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  said  ;  "  you  've  called 
me  a  '  darned  fool '  once  too  often  ;  I  'm 
taking  of  your  advice,  sir  ;  I  'm  '  going 
home.'  " 

"  Mrs.  Bassett !  "  he  cried,  aghast,  "  I 
can't  get  along  without  you.  I  was  not 
speaking  to  you  ;  I  was  merely  addressing 
the  type-writer." 

"  It 's  all  the  same  thing,  sir.  There  is 
one  '  fool '  in  this  house,  that 's  sure.  If 
it 's  me,  I  'd  better  leave  ;  but  if  it 's  you, 
—  why,  I  never  calculated  to  get  along 
with  folly.  Since  that  machine  come, 
126 


A  HAHERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

you  've  ben  clean  crazy.  Take  your  choice. 
Keep  your  Hamerton  type-writer,  or  keep 
me.  Give  it  up,  or  give  me  up.  I  won't 
live  in  the  same  house  with  the  uncanny 
thing  any  longer." 

He  took  his  choice,  and  as  a  conse- 
quence Mrs.  Bassett  departed,  and  the 
Hamerton  type-writer  remained. 

On  Christmas  morning  Richard  Arm- 
strong was  almost  too  ill  to  get  up.  He 
managed,  however,  to  stagger  downstairs 
to  his  study.  He  laid  his  wretched  feel- 
ings to  the  poorly  cooked  food  which  had 
followed  upon  Mrs.  Bassett's  departure. 
When  Miss  Grey  came  in  the  afternoon, 
she  found  him  flushed  and  feverish,  and 
in  great  pain. 

"  You  must  not  try  to  work,"  she  said, 
"  and  you  must  let  me  go  for  a  doctor.  I 
am  afraid  you  have  the  grippe." 

Richard,  however,  insisted  upon  dictat- 
ing, as  he  said  his  brain  had  never  been  so 
full  of  ideas.  He  grew  more  and  more  ex- 
cited as  they  worked,  until  Frances  Grey 
became  seriously  alarmed.  Finally,  she 
heard  a  dull  thud,  and  upon  looking  in 
his  direction  she  saw  that  he  had  fallen 
127 


A  HAMEKTON  TYPE-WRITER 

to  the  floor  in  a  dead  faint.  She  was  now 
thoroughly  frightened.  She  was  a  suffi- 
ciently good  nurse  to  succeed  in  restoring 
her  patient  to  partial  consciousness,  but 
almost  as  soon  as  he  came  out  of  his  faint 
turn  he  grew  delirious. 

Mr.  Armstrong  and  Miss  Grey  were 
alone  in  the  house,  and  therefore  she  could 
not  leave  him  to  go  for  a  doctor.  What 
should  she  do  ?  How  could  she  obtain 
aid  ?  She  glanced  at  the  tall,  old-fashioned 
clock,  whose  hands  were  pointing  to  five 
minutes  of  four.  She  had  not  realized 
that  they  had  worked  so  long,  but  twilight 
was  in  fact  fast  approaching,  and  she  ought 
to  be  starting  for  home. 

She  ran  to  the  front  window,  and 
shouted  "  Help !  help  !  "  at  the  top  of  her 
voice.  No  response  came,  for  Richard 
Armstrong  lived  in  a  house  with  as  much 
land  around  it  as  if  it  were  not  situated  in 
one  of  the  nearest  suburbs  of  a  great  city. 
She  rang  a  bell  which  she  found  in  the 
dining-room,  but  even  its  insistent  peals 
produced  no  effect.  After  this  she  went 
back  into  the  study  to  look  at  her  patient, 
who  was  moaning  and  tossing  restlessly 
128 


A   HAMEKTON  TYPE-WRITER 

on  the  sofa.  At  last  she  ran  down  the 
long  avenue  at  full  speed,  crying,  "  Help, 
help !  " 

A  little  boy  was  sauntering  past  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street.  He  eyed  her  with 
interest. 

"  Is  it  a  fire  or  a  murder,  Missis?  "  he 
asked. 

"  A  gentleman  is  very  ill,"  she  said.  "  I 
will  give  you  this  half-dollar  if  you  will  go 
for  the  nearest  doctor,  and  tell  him  to 
come  here  immediately,  to  this  house,  — 
you  understand  ?  —  to  see  Mr.  Richard 
Armstrong." 

Half  an  hour  passed,  then  another 
half-hour,  and  still  another  ;  yet  neither 
boy  nor  doctor  appeared.  The  tall  old 
mahogany  clock  in  the  corner  was  strik- 
ing six  in  its  silvery  voice.  A  clock 
seems  so  alive  and  companionable,  that 
it  is  a  disappointment  to  find  it  strikes 
in  the  same  bland  unvarying  way  when 
we  ourselves  are  racked  with  anxiety. 
Frances  Grey  was  tempted  to  stop  the 
timepiece,  that  its  measured,  dignified  tick- 
ing and  its  imperturbable  striking  might 
cease. 

129 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

It  was  now  as  dark  as  if  it  were  mid- 
night. Miss  Grey  realized  that  there  was 
little  chance  of  her  being  rescued  by  her 
friends ;  for  her  landlady  would  think  that 
she  had  gone  directly  to  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Grant,  where  she  had  promised  to  assist  at 
some  Christmas  festivities.  Laura  Grant, 
on  the  other  hand,  wotdd  imagine  that 
she  was  belated  in  some  way,  and  would 
not  feel  anxious  about  her.  Self-reliance 
was  not  an  inborn  quality  with  Frances, 
but  an  acquired  one  ;  and  she  felt  very 
lonely  and  helpless  as  she  sat  in  Mr.  Arm- 
strong's study,  watching  his  irregular 
breathing,  and  wondering  whether  the 
simple  remedies  at  her  command  had  been 
the  right  ones. 

Half-past  six,  and  still  no  doctor  !  She 
would  make  one  more  effort  to  secure  a 
messenger.  She  was  about  putting  on  her 
fur  cape  when  she  heard  a  stifled  voice 
from  the  sofa. 

"  Don't  go,"  Richard  begged.  "  Q,  W, 
E,  R,  T,  Y,  —  Queen,  worthy,  that 's  how 
I  remember  the  letters,  —  worthy  Queen, 
my  Queen,  don't  go.  U,  I,  O,  P,  patience. 
A,  S,  darned  fool,  go,  —  no,  that  is  not 
130 


A  HAHERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

so  good  as  the  other ;  what  is  the  other?" 
He  pressed  his  hand  wearily  to  his  head. 
"  I  have  it  now,"  he  said  at  last :  "  Dear 
Frances  Grey,  heavenly  jabberer,  or  was 
it  jackknife?  Don't  go,  heavenly  jab- 
berer." 

Frances  sank  into  an  armchair  and 
laughed  hysterically. 

"  I  am  coming  back,"  she  said  gently, 
when  she  had  recovered  her  voice. 

Richard,  however,  seized  her  hand,  and 
would  not  let  her  go.  Throughout  all  his 
delirious  wanderings  it  seemed  to  comfort 
him  to  feel  her  presence. 

The  moments  were  like  hours  to  Frances, 
and  the  hours  like  days.  It  was  now 
eight  o'clock,  and  she  began  to  wonder  if 
she  would  have  to  spend  a  long  night 
alone  with  her  charge.  Could  the  boy 
have  proved  faithless?  He  had  an  honest 
face. 

At  length,  just  before  nine  o'clock,  she 
heard  the  welcome  sound  of  wheels  on  the 
gravel  outside,  and  presently  the  doctor 
entered  the  room.  He  had  been  too  busy 
with  cases  of  grippe  to  come  any  earlier 
in  the  day.  He  was  a  bluff  and  burly  old 
131 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

gentleman,  with  a  kind  face,  but  a  rough 
manner.  He  examined  the  patient  care- 
fully and  listened  to  a  description  of  his 
symptoms  given  by  Miss  Grey. 

"  It  is  a  case  of  grippe,"  he  said ;  "a 
very  extreme  case,  aggravated  by  some 
mental  trouble.  What  has  he  on  his 
mind?" 

"The  Hamerton  type-writer,"  the  pa- 
tient moaned  ;  "  the  best  in  the  market, 
the  most  easily  mastered  by  those  who 
cannot  see.  Only  one  set  of  letters,  but 
you  must  be  careful  to  press  the  stop  for 
the  capitals  Z,  X,  C,  V,  '  Zealous  Xerxes 
collects  violins  ; '  that 's  how  I  remember 
them ;  but  the  question-marks  and  the  pe- 
riods are  the  hardest." 

The  doctor  left  the  usual  prescriptions 
for  grippe,  and  promised  to  call  again  on 
the  following  morning. 

"  I  think  your  brother  is  not  going  to 
be  very  ill,"  he  said  kindly. 

"  He  is  no  relation  of  mine,"  said  Miss 
Grey,  "  and  not  even  a  friend.  I  am 
merely  his  amanuensis,  and  I  am  alone 
in  the  house  with  him.  You  must  send 
a  nurse." 

132 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

"  It  is  impossible,"  the  doctor  rejoined. 
"  All  the  nurses  are  engaged.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  get  hold  of  one  all  day." 

Frances  implored  him  to  at  least  find 
some  woman  to  keep  her  company,  that 
she  might  not  have  to  bear  the  strain  of  a 
solitary,  anxious  night.  "  We  ought  to 
telegraph  to  his  mother,"  she  suggested. 

"  Yes,"  Dr.  Marston  agreed,  "  and  I 
will  send  the  telegram  if  you  will  write  it 
out  for  me." 

Frances  sank  helplessly  into  a  chair. 
"  I  do  not  know  in  what  part  of  the  world 
she  lives,"  she  explained.  "  We  will  ask 
him  ;  perhaps  he  may  tell  us,  in  a  moment 
of  intelligence." 

The  doctor  approached  Richard,  and 
said  distinctly,  "  Where  does  your  mother 
live?" 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  blandly, 
and  murmured,  with  a  beaming  smile, 
his  favorite  refrain,  "  Darned  fool,  go 
home." 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  won't 
be  insulted." 

"  He  is  wandering  in  his  mind,  poor 
fellow  !  "  Frances  said.  "  I  will  ask  him." 
133 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

She  came  close  to  him,  and  said  gently, 
"  Mr.  Armstrong,  it  is  I,  Miss  Grey,  the 
type-writer." 

"Best  machine  in  the  market,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

"  Yes,  the  Hamerton  is  the  best,"  she 
said  soothingly ;  "  but  we  are  talking  of 
your  mother,  Mrs.  Armstrong.  Where 
does  she  live  ?  " 

"  Be  sure  to  press  your  interrogations, 
or  you  will  get  a  figure  2,"  he  observed  in 
a  confiding  tone  ;  "  a  figure  2  looks  badly 
in  the  manuscript." 

"  It  is  of  no  use,"  Frances  said,  with 
a  sigh ;  "  we  must  find  out  his  mother's 
address  in  some  other  way." 

"J,  K,  L  stands  for  John  Kingsley 
Lawson,"  Richard  murmured. 

"  That  is  true.  We  can  send  the  mes- 
sage through  his  friend,  Mr.  Lawson," 
she  suggested,  "and  ask  him  to  forward 
the  news  to  Mrs.  Armstrong." 

That  was  the  longest  night  that  Frances 
ever  spent.  The  doctor  sent  one  of  his 
own  servants  to  stay  with  her,  but  the 
woman  was  too  frightened  and  inexperi- 
enced to  be  of  any  assistance.  Mr.  Arm- 
134 


A  HAMERTON   TYPE-WRITER 

strong  was  delirious  the  greater  part  of 
the  night,  but  at  length  he  fell  into  a  trou- 
bled sleep,  from  which  he  would  awake 
every  few  moments,  to  mutter  crazy  ejacu- 
lations, or  to  seize  Miss  Grey's  hand  and 
beg  her  not  to  leave  him.  "  Please  stay, 
dear  fool,  until  the  end  of  the  chapter," 
he  said  over  and  over  again. 

"  Of  course  I  will  stay,"  Frances  an- 
swered kindly,  "  as  long  as  you  want  me  ; 
to  the  very  last  of  the  book,  and  it  is 
going  to  be  a  great  novel." 

Toward  morning  he  awoke  again,  and 
his  mind  seemed  clearer.  "  Have  I  been 
very  ill  ?  "  he  asked.  "  My  head  is  a  trifle 
confused.  I  hope  I  was  quite  polite." 

"You were  —  most  considerate,"  Fran- 
ces replied  in  reassuring  tones.  It  was 
a  small  matter  to  have  been  addressed  in 
uncivil  language  by  a  man  whose  heart 
was  in  the  right  place,  if  his  head  were  in 
the  wrong  one. 

He  sighed.  "  I  am  glad ;  I  am  very 
glad.  I  thought  I  might  possibly  have 

called  you  a '  darn '  but  it 's  all  right 

since  I  did  n't." 

A  sharp  spasm  of  pain  seized  him.  He 
135 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

looked  up  with  a  wan  smile.  "  You  pro- 
mised to  stay  with  me  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter,"  he  said  faintly.  "  Perhaps  it  is 
nearer  being  finished  than  we  thought ; 
perhaps  it  is  time  to  write  THE  END  now." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Frances,  bending  over 
him  with  a  tearful  face ;  "  you  will  be  bet- 
ter, and  your  novel  will  be  finished,  and 
your  mother  is  coming  to-morrow." 

He  did  get  better.  There  were  many 
weary  days  first,  during  which  his  mother 
and  the  doctor  and  Miss  Grey  had  anxious 
hearts,  although  they  tried  to  keep  cheer- 
ful faces ;  but  at  last  he  grew  well  enough 
to  take  his  place  again  in  the  study,  and 
to  begin  to  work  on  his  novel. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  a  fragile  little 
woman,  with  too  much  sentiment  for  the 
comfort  of  her  friends,  and  with  the  cer- 
tainty that  her  son  was  the  only  really 
great  American  novelist.  She  was  so 
fond  of  him  that  she  was  jealous  of  any 
other  influence,  and  was  morally  certain 
that  she  could  be  his  amanuensis  quite 
as  satisfactorily  as  his  new  friend.  She 
had  overpowered  Frances  by  her  gratitude 
and  affection  so  long  as  Richard's  life 
136 


A   HAMERTOX  TYPE-WRITER 

hung  in  the  balance  ;  but  when  he  was 
well  on  the  way  to  recovery,  she  dismissed 
her  in  a  somewhat  cavalier  fashion. 

Richard  had  inherited  his  nervous  tem- 
perament from  his  mother,  and  under  the 
joint  management  of  the  mother  and  son 
the  book  remained  at  a  standstill,  and 
Mrs.  Armstrong  was  at  last  forced  reluc- 
tantly to  admit  that  it  might  be  best  to 
send  for  the  "  type- writer,"  as  otherwise 
the  public  would  have  to  wait  indefinitely 
for  the  completion  of  "  the  most  glorious 
American  novel."  Miss  Grey  therefore 
was  at  last  summoned,  and  she  came  at 
once,  with  no  apparent  feeling  of  ill-will, 
and  took  her  place  as  quietly  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  study  as  if  she  had  never  left 
it.  She  found  Richard  sitting  in  the  large 
easy-chair,  "  himself  again,"  although  a 
little  pale  and  thin. 

"  How  good  it  is  to  get  you  back 
again  !  "  he  said,  with  one  of  his  bright 
smiles.  "  I  have  missed  you  more  than 
you  would  believe  possible." 

He  watched  her  every  motion  with  the 
same  deep  satisfaction  with  which  a  little 
boy  bends  his  gaze  on  his  good  mamma 
137 


A   HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

who  has  chanced  to  be  absent  for  a  time. 
What  attractive  ways  she  had,  and  what 
a  charming  face !  She  was  a  woman 
whom  any  man  might  be  proud  to  call  his 
mother,  or  his  sister  ;  for  she  would  be 
ideal  in  either  relation.  Only  a  very 
exceptional  man  would  fall  in  love  with 
her,  Richard  thought ;  for  his  sex  in  gen- 
eral is  captivated  by  external  charm,  or 
a  lively,  fascinating  manner.  To  love  this 
woman,  one  must  be  on  the  farther  side 
of  an  experience  which  had  shown  one 
the  deceitfulness  of  mere  personal  charm. 
Richard  felt  himself  to  be  the  one  uncom- 
mon man  who  appreciated  her. 

He  began  to  dictate.  They  had  reached 
a  somewhat  dry  part  of  the  story,  or  at 
least  a  portion  which  depended  for  its 
interest  on  delicacy  of  touch  rather  than 
startling  incident.  The  hero,  Miles  Gre- 
court,  had  come  to  a  critical  point  in  his 
experiment  in  charity.  He  had  set  up  a 
small  ragamuffin  in  the  trade  of  boot- 
blacking,  notwithstanding  the  urchin's 
frequently  expressed  preference  for  an- 
other way  of  life,  and  he  was  now  being 
rewarded  by  ingratitude. 
138 


A  HAMERTON   TYPE-WRITER 

" '  You  're  an  old  humbug,'  said  the 
quasi-bootblack,"  Richard  dictated,  "  '  go- 
in'  around  the  world  thiukin'  to  do  f olkses 
such  a  pile  of  good  by  niakin'  'em  happy 
in  your  way  rather  than  their  own.  Now, 
as  I  told  you,  I  've  always  had  the  dream 
of  bein'  a  newspaper  boy,  but  you  insisted 
upon  my  bein'  a  bootblack  '  "  —  Richard 
paused  to  give  Miss  Grey  time  to  finish 
this  sentence.  "  It  is  of  no  use,"  he 
went  on  ;  "I  love  you  in  spite  of  every- 
thing. I  may  say  to  myself  that  it  is  only 
that  I  am  dependent  on  you,  but  I  cheat 
myself  with  words ;  I  love  you,  I  love 
you!" 

Miss  Grey's  fingers  flew  rapidly  over 
the  keys,  but  she  said,  "  Do  you  think 
that  last  sentence  in  character  ?  " 

"  In  character  !  "  Richard  repeated  sav- 
agely ;  "  and  pray  why  is  it  not  in  charac- 
ter?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  see  why  the  boot- 
black changed  his  mind  so  suddenly." 

"  The  bootblack  !  Hang  the  boot- 
black !  I  am  talking  of  myself  and  of 
you." 

"  And  I  am  waiting  for  you  to  dictate 
139 


A  HAMERTON  TYPE-WRITER 

the  next  paragraph,"  Frances  said  in  icy 
tones.  Her  hands  were  on  the  keyboard 
of  the  type-writer.  Richard  seized  the 
one  that  was  nearest  him. 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Grey,  will  you  listen 
quietly  to  what  I  have  to  say,  and  let 
that  confounded  machine  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Armstrong,  if  you,  on  your 
side,  will  remember  that  I  am  'only  a 
type- writer.' ' 

His  very  words,  —  but  how  could  she 
have  heard  them?  He  must  have  said 
them  in  his  delirium. 

"  Miss  Grey,"  he  went  on,  with  a  little 
break  in  his  voice,  "  whatever  I  may  have 
said  when  I  was  not  myself,  the  fact  re- 
mains that  I  love  you ;  I  have  had  dreary 
days  without  you  ;  I  cannot  tell  " 

"  No,  you  cannot,  you  must  not  tell  me 
any  more.  Believe  me,  I  never  dreamed 
of  this.  I  have  liked  you  as  a  brother 
from  the  very  first,  because,  —  I  could 
not  tell  you  then,  for  it  was  a  secret,  — 
and  afterwards  Jack  sent  me  a  part  of 
your  letter,  and  as  you  thought  of  me  as 
'  only  a  type-writer,'  it  seemed  simpler 
to  go  on  as  we  had  begun.  Do  you 
140 


A  HAMEKTON  TYPE-WKITER 

understand  now?     It   was   through   Mr. 
Lawson  that  I  came  to  you." 

"  So  you  are  a  friend  of  Jack's.  He 
might  have  had  the  grace  to  tell  me  so  in 
the  beginning  ;  but  my  dearest  "  — 

"  You  do  not  understand.  I  am  en- 
gaged to  Jack  Lawson." 

One  ray  of  hope  was  still  left  to  Rich- 
ard. 

"  You  are  engaged  to  be  his  amanu- 
ensis, —  his  type-writer  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  him  ; 
I  have  promised  to  stay  with  him  '  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter.' ' 
141 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

THE  journey  from  New  York  to  Ham- 
ilton, New  Hampshire,  can  be  made  in 
seven  hours,  a  period  of  time  which  may  or 
may  not  be  long  to  the  passengers,  accord- 
ing to  circumstances.  To  Maurice  Went- 
worth,  a  man  of  nearly  forty,  who  was 
traveling  over  the  road  for  the  first  time 
in  many  years,  the  journey  seemed  inter- 
minable, for  he  occupied  himself  in  review- 
ing the  events  that  had  taken  place  since 
he  and  his  brother  were  boys  in  Hamilton, 
and  this  exercise  of  mind  was  not  condu- 
cive to  cheerful  thoughts.  How  often,  as 
a  lad,  he  had  watched  the  train  steam 
away  from  the  Hamilton  station  into  an 
unknown  world,  with  the  determination 
strong  within  him  to  win  a  distinguished 
place  in  that  world  !  And  now  it  was 
bringing  him  back  as  poor  and  unknown 
as  he  had  been  when  it  had  taken  him 
away !  "  I  am  nothing  bvit  '  a  faithful 
142 


A  FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

failure,'  '  he  said  to  himself  bitterly, 
borrowing  a  phrase  from  Stevenson. 

His  brother,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
unusually  prosperous,  and  Maurice  asked 
himself  if  Robert's  apparent  selfishness 
had  not 'been  justified  by  results.  If  he 
had  pushed  his  fortunes  with  little  regard 
to  the  rights  of  others,  he  was  now  in  a 
position  to  hold  out  a  helping  hand  to  the 
less  favored,  for  he  was  rich,  influential, 
and  happily  married ;  while  he,  the  elder 
brother,  was  alone  in  the  world,  and  com- 
ing, at  Robert's  invitation,  to  spend  the 
summer  with  him  in  the  old  homestead, 
while  waiting  for  some  opening  by  which 
he  could  earn  his  living. 

"  East  Hamilton  !  "  called  the  conduc- 
tor, breaking  in  upon  his  reflections. 

Hamilton  was  the  next  station,  and 
Went  worth  looked  out  of  the  open  win- 
dow at  the  familiar  scenery,  and  saw  that 
here,  at  least,  nothing  had  changed  while 
the  fortunes  of  men  were  being  made 
or  marred.  As  he  glanced  at  the  half- 
wooded  hills  that  encircled  the  horizon, 
and  at  the  river  rushing  tumultuously 
over  its  rocky  channel,  now  hidden  in 
143 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

the  woods,  only  to  flash  into  life  again 
when  there  was  a  gap  in  the  forest,  it 
seemed  but  yesterday  since  he  had  gone 
over  this  same  road,  an  eager,  hopeful 
boy. 

Meanwhile,  Robert  Wentworth  and  his 
wife,  who  were  driving  down  to  the  sta- 
tion to  meet  their  relative,  reviewed  his 
career  after  their  own  fashion. 

"  Maurice  is  such  a  good  fellow  that  it 
is  a  pity  he  has  n't  a  little  more  push," 
said  Mrs.  Wentworth. 

"  A  little  more  ? "  her  husband  re- 
turned. "  I  should  be  devoutly  grateful 
if  he  had  any." 

"  Robert,  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  say 
such  things  about  your  brother,  for  he  is 
so  nice  to  the  children." 

"  Yes,  taking  care  of  children  is  his 
forte.  If  he  were  a  woman,  he  could 
earn  his  living  as  a  nursery-maid." 

"  How  unkind  of  you !  He  is  a  very 
bright  man,  and  would  have  made  a 
brilliant  lawyer,  I  have  no  doubt,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  the  trouble  with  his 
eyes." 

"  Charlotte,  a  man  who  is  bound  to 
144 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

succeed  will  succeed,  even  if  the  Lord 
and  the  devil  are  both  against  him,  and 
a  man  who  is  bound  to  fail  will  fail.  I 
believe  in  predestination  to  that  extent. 
The  trouble  with  Maurice's  eyes  need  n't 
have  made  his  ranch  life  a  failure.  Do 
you  suppose  I  should  make  a  failure  of 
ranch  life  if  I  were  obliged  to  try  it  ?  " 

"  No  dear,"  his  wife  said  soothingly. 
"  I  don't  think  you  could  fail  at  any- 
thing." 

They  reached  the  Hamilton  station  as 
she  spoke,  and  the  next  moment  the 
brother  who  owned  that  he  had  failed 
was  in  the  presence  of  the  brother  who 
owned  that  he  had  succeeded. 

Robert  saw  a  tall  man  come  forward 
to  meet  him,  with  an  air  of  gentlemanly 
shabbiness,  and  a  face  full  of  careworn 
lines,  which,  together  with  his  gray  hair, 
made  him  look  ten  years  older  than  his 
actual  age.  It  irritated  him  to  find  that 
Maurice  showed  so  plainly  the  marks 
of  having  passed  a  cheerless  and  unpro- 
sperous  life,  and  his  vexation  was  in- 
creased by  the  fact  that  he  bore  a  strong 
family  likeness  to  himself.  Maurice,  on 
145 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

the  other  hand,  was  struck  by  the  fact 
that  his  brother  had  scarcely  changed  in 
the  last  ten  years.  He  was  as  handsome 
as  ever,  and  showed  unmistakably  that 
the  world  had  lavished  its  best  gifts  upon 
him.  Maurice  saw,  too,  a  vivacious  little 
woman,  with  sparkling  black  eyes,  spar- 
kling diamond  earrings,  a  wealth  of  red 
roses  on  her  leghorn  hat,  a  rainbow  of 
colors  in  her  gown,  and  a  cascade  of  flut- 
tering ribbons. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Maurice," 
she  said  with  a  cordiality  that  was  very 
grateful  to  the  lonely  man.  "  The  chil- 
dren have  talked  of  nothing  but  your 
coming  for  days.  They  enjoyed  your 
visit  in  New  York  so  much.  It  was  a 
pity  that  Robert  lost  it !  And  to  think 
that  you  boys  have  n't  seen  each  other  for 
ten  years ! " 

Their  way  led  through  the  town  of 
Hamilton,  with  its  long,  elm-lined  main 
street  and  its  straggling  group  of  shops 
and  wooden  churches,  and  then  uphill  for 
two  miles  until  they  reached  the  Went- 
worth  farm. 

Here  Maurice  and  his  brother  had  lived 
146 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

when  they  were  boys,  and  here  Robert 
spent  his  summers,  having  remodeled  the 
old  homestead,  and  turned  it  into  a  com- 
fortable modern  dwelling.  As  they  ap- 
proached the  red  house  under  the  elm- 
trees,  a  bevy  of  small  girls,  headed  by  a 
little  boy,  ran  down  the  road  and  pre- 
sently surrounded  the  carriage. 

"  Uncle  Maurice  !  How  perfectly  splen- 
did that  you  have  come  !  "  exclaimed  Bea- 
trice, the  eldest  of  the  children. 

"  Guess  what  we  have  got  in  a  barrel, 
uncle  Maurice  !  "  said  Eleanor.  "  There 
are  three  of  them,  and  their  eyes  have  n't 
opened  yet." 

"  They  must  be  chickens,"  he  observed 
solemnly. 

"  Chickens  in  a  barrel !  How  funny 
you  are,  uncle  Maurice  !  " 

By  this  time  their  uncle  had  descended 
from  the  wagon  and  was  going  along  the 
gravel  path  toward  the  porch,  his  left  hand 
seized  by  Eleanor,  and  his  valise  borne 
away  in  a  determined  manner  by  Beatrice 
and  Bobby,  while  three  little  girls  strug- 
gled to  get  possession  of  his  disengaged 

hand. 

147 


A  FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

"  Don't  quarrel  so ;  leave  your  uncle  in 
peace,"  their  father  said  sternly. 

The  children,  however,  who  had  inher- 
ited their  parent's  determination,  paid  no 
heed  to  this  remark,  but  dragged  their 
guest  into  the  house  and  out  on  the  piazza. 
Here  they  deposited  him  in  a  cane-seated 
rocking-chair  with  broad  arms  ;  and  the 
next  moment  he  was  buried  beneath  an 
avalanche  of  white  gowns  and  streaming 
yellow  hair.  Marion,  Carlotta,  and  Elea- 
nor, the  three  younger  children,  contrived 
to  climb  into  his  lap,  while  Beatrice  and 
Bobby  perched  on  the  arms  of  his  chair, 
and  the  demure  little  Hester  was  forced 
to  content  herself  with  a  chair  drawn  as 
close  to  her  uncle  as  possible. 

"  Where  is  aunt  Ellen  ?  Go  and  find 
her,  Hester,"  Beatrice  commanded. 

Hester,  the  only  obedient  child  in  this 
domineering  and  strong  -  willed  family, 
slipped  down  from  her  chair  and  went 
in  search  of  her  aunt. 

"  It  is  so  funny  that  you  and  aunt  Ellen 
are  n't  any  relation,  when  you  are  our  un- 
cle Maurice,  and  she  is  our  aunt  Ellen," 
mused  Carlotta. 

148 


A  FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

"  Goosie,  uncle  Maurice  can't  be  brother 
to  papa  and  mamma  both  !  "  explained  the 
superior  Beatrice.  "Aunt  Ellen  is  aw- 
fully nice.  Did  you  ever  see  her,  uncle 
Maurice  ?  " 

"  Not  since  she  was  about  your  size, 
Beatrice." 

"  She  is  grown  up  now." 

"  Not  so  awfully  grown  up,"  added 
Bobby.  "Not  so  grown  up  as  mamma." 

"  I  am  sorry  she  is  grown  up,"  Maurice 
owned,  with  a  sigh.  He  could  always 
count  upon  the  affection  of  children,  but 
he  was  not  so  sure  of  the  approval  of  their 
elders. 

"  She  is  taller  than  mamma,"  Marion 
stated,  "  but  I  don't  think  she  is  so  grown 
up  in  her  mind,  for  she  likes  to  make 
mud-pies." 

He  heard  a  pleasant,  gentle  laugh  as  his 
niece  made  this  remark,  and  upon  looking 
up  he  saw  Ellen  standing  before  him.  He 
had  a  vivid  impression  of  a  personality 
that  was  altogether  charming.  He  was 
sensitive  to  atmosphere,  and  he  felt  at 
once  that  this  girl  was  uncritical,  even 
shy  and  humble. 

149 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

*'  I  believe  I  don't  mind  so  very  much 
to  find  that  you  are  grown  up,  Ellen,"  he 
said,  as  he  shook  hands  with  her. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Maurice 
sometimes  wished  again  that  Ellen  were 
a  child,  as  in  that  case  he  could  have  had 
more  chances  to  see  her ;  for  his  time  was 
spent  chiefly  with  his  nieces  and  nephew. 
In  the  minds  of  their  parents  the  world 
was  divided  into  two  classes,  —  those  per- 
sons who  were  fond  of  children  and  those 
who  were  not.  They  did  not  recognize 
any  subtler  distinctions,  and  realize  that 
there  are  people  who  are  fond  of  children 
for  six  hours,  but  not  for  sixteen,  out  of 
the  twenty-four. 

Maurice  was  sorry  to  find  that  Ellen 
had  grown  more  reserved  with  her  added 
years.  He  was  especially  struck  with  her 
shyness  one  evening  when  the  Aliens,  a 
rich  family  in  the  neighborhood,  were  bid- 
den to  tea.  The  guests  were  taken  out  on 
the  piazza  until  supper  should  be  ready, 
for  the  day  had  been  sultry.  Mrs.  Allen, 
fat,  pompous,  and  dull,  plied  a  palm-leaf 
fan,  and  listened  to  Mrs.  Wentworth's 
vivacious  chatter ;  her  husband,  fatter, 
150 


A   FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

more  pompous,  and  duller,  talked  of  farm- 
ing with  Robert ;  while  their  son,  a  slender 
blase  youth  of  twenty,  adjusted  his  eye- 
glasses and  patronized  Ellen  and  the  sun- 
set. The  poor  girl  devoutly  hoped  that 
she  would  be  placed  next  to  Maurice 
Wentworth  at  the  tea-table,  for  he  was 
the  only  one  of  the  men  with  whom  she 
felt  she  had  anything  in  common.  No 
such  happy  fate  was  hers,  however.  She 
was  seated,  as  befitted  her  youth,  next  to 
Frank  Allen,  while  her  position  as  sister 
in  the  household  gave  her  his  father  for 
her  other  neighbor.  The  old  gentleman 
ignored  her,  and  concentrated  his  attention 
upon  his  entertaining  hostess.  The  younger 
man,  pleased  at  first  by  her  charming  face, 
vouchsafed  a  few  remarks,  but  soon  made 
up  his  mind  that  she  was  as  dull  as  her 
narrow  life,  in  spite  of  her  beautiful  eyes. 
He  presently  relapsed  into  silence,  which 
was  broken  only  when  Ellen,  catching  a 
disapproving  glance  from  her  brother-in- 
law,  gathered  courage  to  ask  her  neighbor 
some  trivial  question,  which  he  answered 
by  a  monosyllable. 

When  the  long-drawn  agony  was  at  last 
151 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

over,  and  the  guests  had  adjourned  to  the 
parlor,  Robert  captured  Ellen  as  she  was 
leaving  the  dining-room. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  talk  to  young  Allen, 
instead  of  holding  your  tongue  like  a  silly 
schoolgirl  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  tried  to  talk  to  Mr.  Allen,"  she  an- 
swered humbly,  "  but  he  did  not  care  for 
what  I  had  to  say,"  and  she  cast  a  hurried 
glance  after  Maurice,  and  wondered,  in 
her  self-abasement,  if  he  had  heard  his 
brother's  question. 

"  How  can  you  expect  any  man  to  be 
interested  in  what  you  have  to  say  when 
you  are  so  doubtful  about  it  yourself  ?  " 
Robert  inquired.  "  Dash  in,  Ellen.  Say 
whatever  comes  into  your  head,  as  Char- 
lotte does.  That 's  the  way  to  do  it.  Say 
it  as  if  it  were  important,  and  every  one 
will  think  it  is  important ;  but  —  above 
all  —  never  look  bored.  Draw  out  the 
bores,  Ellen,  —  that 's  the  way  to  get  on. 
You  are  pretty  enough  to  succeed,  if  you 
will  only  take  the  trouble.  I  shall  ex- 
pect to  hear  you  talking  all  the  evening, 
whether  you  have  anything  to  say  or 
not." 

152 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

When  Robert  left  her,  Ellen  took  refuge 
on  the  piazza  to  dry  her  eyes  under  shelter 
of  the  friendly  darkness.  She  sat  deject- 
edly in  a  corner,  her  depression  extending 
itself  even  to  the  lines  of  her  limp  pink 
mull  gown.  Presently  she  heard  a  step, 
and  before  she  could  escape  she  saw  Mau- 
rice at  her  elbow. 

"  Suppose  we  take  a  turn  out  here  be- 
fore we  go  into  the  parlor,"  he  suggested. 
"  We  shall  never  be  missed." 

Ellen  hastily  tucked  her  handkerchief 
into  her  belt,  and  tried  to  steady  her  voice 
as  she  said,  u  It  does  n't  matter  about  me, 
but  you  will  be  missed.  You  ought  to  go 
in." 

"  I  missed !  "  He  gave  a  short  laugh. 
"  Ellen,"  he  asked,  as  they  began  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  piazza,  "  what  has  my 
brother  been  saying  to  you  ?  You  look  as 
forlorn  as  a  rose  that  has  been  trodden 
underfoot." 

"  He  wants  me  to  be  more  like  Char- 
lotte. I  wish  I  could  be." 

"  It  must  be  a  comfort  to  be  an  average, 
conventional  person,"  he  assented,  "  ready 
at  a  moment's  notice  to  adjust  one's  self 
153 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

to  fashion  and  circumstance.  That  is  what 
it  means  to  be  successful." 

"  I  should  like  to  be  successful,"  she 
admitted,  "  but  I  never  can  be,  because  I 
cannot  talk.  I  am  a  great  disappointment 
to  Kobert.  He  likes  lively,  bright  people. 
I  wish  I  could  please  him,  for  he  has  been 
so  good  to  me.  You  know  my  home  has 
been  with  him  ever  since  aunt  Martha 
went  to  live  with  aunt  Ellen,  when  her 
husband  died  ?  " 

"  You  were  with  your  aunt  Ellen  the 
last  time  I  saw  you.  What  a  quaint  little 
girl  you  were !  You  could  talk  fast  enough 
then." 

"  We  really  ought  to  go  in,"  said  the 
conscientious  Ellen.  "  Robert  will  be  dis- 
pleased if  we  stay  away." 

"  If  you  say  so,  we  will ;  but  we  must 
sit  together,  Ellen,  and  then  we  need  not 
talk  unless  we  have  something  to  say." 

"  Robert  won't  like  it  if  I  don't  talk." 

"  Very  well ;  then  I  will  say  to  you  at 
intervals,  'It  is  a  pleasant  evening,'  —  a 
great  deal  pleasanter  out  here,  by  the  way, 
than  in  the  house.  Look  at  the  mist  on 
the  mountains,  and  at  that  little  crescent 
154 


A   FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

moon  so  clear-cut  against  the  sky.  It  is 
a  shame  to  go  into  the  hot  parlor  when 
you  and  I  could  have  such  a  nice  time 
out  here  by  ourselves.  Society  seems  to 
be  a  device  for  making  people  uncomfort- 
able." 

"  But  we  owe  something  to  society,  and 
we  must  go  in,"  Ellen  said  firmly. 

"  We  will  go  in,  and  whenever  Robert's 
eye  is  upon  us  I  will  reiterate  that  it  is  a 
pleasant  evening.  He  will  be  satisfied  if 
he  sees  us  talking,  and  you  will  merely 
have  to  say,  '  Yes,  it  is  a  pleasant  evening. 
I  always  did  like  hot  drawing-rooms  in 
summer  weather.' " 

Before  the  evening  was  over  Ellen  and 
Maurice  had  confided  a  number  of  things 
to  each  other,  and  they  were  soon  laugh- 
ing merrily  ;  for  whenever  Robert  looked 
that  way,  Maurice,  true  to  his  promise,  no 
matter  what  subject  they  chanced  to  be 
discussing,  broke  off  abruptly,  and  said 
with  an  excess  of  gravity  to  Ellen,  "  It  is 
a  pleasant  evening." 

That  evening  was  the  precursor  of  many 
that  were  equally  delightful.  The  weeks 
slipped  away,  and  Maurice  ceased  to  think 
155 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

of  his  unhappy  past  and  his  precarious 
future,  but  gave  himself  up  to  the  joys  of 
a  satisfying  present.  He  had  never  known 
before  the  pleasure  of  easy  and  familiar 
intercourse  with  a  young  girl.  It  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  he,  middle-aged  and 
penniless,  might  fall  in  love  with  Ellen ; 
still  less  that  she,  beautiful  and  young, 
might  grow  to  care  for  him  ;  but  he  felt 
an  unreasonable  envy  when  he  saw  the 
comforts  with  which  his  brother  had  sur- 
rounded himself,  and  material  things  as- 
sumed the  exaggerated  value  in  his  eyes 
which  they  often  have  for  those  of  few 
possessions,  who,  because  of  their  poverty, 
are  erroneously  supposed  to  despise  com- 
forts and  luxuries.  Had  he  been  success- 
ful, he  reasoned,  he  too  might  have  had 
a  happy  home  ;  a  wife,  not  unlike  Ellen, 
older,  less  charming,  plainer,  but  a  sym- 
pathetic companion  who  would  understand 
him  and  love  him.  He  too  might  have 
had  naughty,  willful,  but  very  dear  and 
engaging  children. 

At  last  an  evening  came  which  was  plea- 
santer  than  all  the  others.    It  chanced  one 
morning  that  Mrs.  Wentworth  proposed 
156 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

to  her  brother-in-law  that  he  and  Ellen 
and  some  of  the  children  should  have  an 
early  lunch,  and  then  drive  over  to  An- 
nersley,  a  large  town  ten  miles  away, 
where  she  wanted  some  important  errands 
done.  Mrs.  Allen  and  several  New  York 
friends  were  to  come  to  lunch,  and  it  would 
be  a  comfort  to  be  freed. from  some  of  the 
turbulent  and  omnipresent  children.  So 
it  happened  that  a  wagonful  of  happy 
people  drove  "  over  the  hills  and  far 
away,"  that  August  afternoon.  Ellen  was 
on  the  back  seat  with  Marion  and  Car- 
lotta,  while  Beatrice  and  Bobby  proudly 
shared  the  front  seat  with  their  uncle 
Maurice.  Unhappily,  the  carriage  was 
not  sufficiently  elastic  to  hold  all  the 
children,  and  poor  Hester  had  the  doubt- 
ful reward  of  the  good,  and  was  left  be- 
hind because  she  was  no  trouble  to  her 
mother,  while  Eleanor  was  compelled  to 
stay  at  home  because  she  was  so  very 
young. 

They  drove  through  patches  of  dense 

woods   and   up   long   stretches  of   dusty 

road,  with  a  tangle  of  blackberry  bushes 

and  early  goldenrod  on  either  side  of  the 

157 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

rough  stone  walls.  Sometimes  they  passed 
deserted  farmhouses  with  their  blinds  for- 
lornly closed,  and  again  they  went  by  pro- 
sperous farms  that  had  been  reclaimed  by 
summer  visitors ;  and  all  the  way  was 
brightened  by  a  summer  sun,  except  when 
the  sun  was  obscured  by  summer  clouds. 
Once  they  came  suddenly,  after  a  bend 
in  the  road,  upon  an  old  farmhouse,  un- 
painted,  and  turned  by  stress  of  weather 
to  a  picturesque  gray.  Over  its  walls 
gay  morning-glories  were  climbing,  and 
in  its  straggling,  unkempt  garden  was  a 
profusion  of  hollyhocks ;  while  on  the 
very  upper  edge  of  the  hillside,  silhouet- 
ted against  the  sky,  was  a  flock  of  white 
geese. 

"  That  is  like  one  of  Vedder's  pictures," 
said  Maurice. 

"  What !  those  ugly  geese,  craning  their 
necks  in  that  stupid  way?"  asked  Bea- 
trice. 

"  You  are  a  true  child  of  your  father," 
he  rejoined. 

"  Does  n't  papa  like  geese,  uncle  Mau- 
rice?" 

"  No,  my  dear,  he  does  not." 
158 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

But  if  his  niece  was  unsympathetic,  no 
shade  of  the  picturesque  landscape  was 
lost  upon  Ellen.  On  this  enchanting 
afternoon,  even  prosaic  errands  in  ugly 
Annersley  caught  a  little  of  the  glamour 
that  enveloped  everything.  Ellen  lin- 
gered unnecessarily  in  the  shops  from  a 
willful  determination  to  make  this  happy 
day  last  a  brief  hour  longer.  She  hailed 
with  pleasure  Beatrice's  proposition  that 
they  should  get  soda  water  at  the  corner 
drug  store,  where  their  uncle  Maurice 
treated  them  all,  from  Beatrice,  who  with 
difficulty  could  be  dissuaded  from  having 
sarsaparilla,  vanilla,  and  chocolate  mixed, 
down  to  the  small  Carlotta.  Ellen  lav- 
ishly provided  them  with  crackers,  pep- 
permint drops,  and  gum  drops.  When 
they  started  to  drive  home  at  last,  and 
saw  that  the  summer  clouds  were  fast  get- 
ting the  better  of  the  summer  sun,  Ellen 
recklessly  hoped  that  they  might  be  caught 
in  a  drenching  rain,  and  have  to  take  re- 
fuge in  the  weather-beaten  farmhouse.  It 
was  such  a  humble  wish  that  it  was  granted 
her  by  fate.  The  shower  was  upon  them 
almost  before  they  knew  it,  and  Maurice 
159 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

had  just  time  to  get  the  open  wagon  under 
shelter  of  the  barn  that  was  near  the 
farmhouse,  when  the  clouds  descended  in 
a  blinding  sheet  of  rain.  It  was  five 
o'clock  already,  and  there  were  eight  miles 
still  before  them  to  travel. 

"  Uncle  Maurice,"  said  Beatrice,  as  she 
climbed  up  into  the  hayloft,  "wouldn't 
it  be  jolly  fun  if  we  had  to  stay  here  all 
night?" 

"  I  wish  it  would  rain,  and  rain,  and 
rain,  for  forty  days  and  forty  nights,  and 
that  we  could  have  this  barn  for  our 
ark,"  added  the  more  imaginative  Car- 
lotta. 

As  the  minutes  passed,  it  became  evi- 
dent that  a  fraction  of  this  wish  was  to  be 
fulfilled,  and  Maurice  presently  proposed 
that  they  should  adjourn  to  the  farmhouse, 
and  seek  shelter  there  for  the  night.  They 
were  greeted  at  the  kitchen  door  by  the 
farmer's  wife,  a  cheery,  elderly  woman. 

"  Come  right  in  and  make  yourselves  to 
home,"  she  said  hospitably,  before  Maurice 
had  finished  accounting  for  their  sudden 
appearance. 

"  I  am  Maurice  Wentworth,  from  the 
160 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

Went  worth   farm,"  he    said,   raising   his 
voice,  for  the  woman  was  deaf. 

"  Du  tell !  I  want  ter  know !  I  've  often 
seen  the  farm  as  I  've  drove  by.  And  so 
these  are  your  children?"  (she  included 
Ellen  in  the  number)  —  "  four  girls  and  , 
a  boy ;  quite  a  little  family.  I  guess  the 
boy  is  a  prime  favorite  with  his  pa  ?  " 

"  He  is  n't  our  father  ;  he  is  our  uncle 
Maurice,"  Bobby  and  Beatrice  explained. 
But  the  woman  did  not  hear  them,  and 
proceeded  to  open  the  parlor  door  with  a 
flourish. 

"  Walk  right  in,  girls  ;  don't  be  bashful. 
You  and  your  sisters  can  have  the  spare 
room  upstairs,"  she  said,  addressing  Ellen, 
"  and  I  have  a  nice  little  corner  room  for 
your  father  and  brother." 

"  He  is  n't  her  father,  and  she  is  n't  my 
sister.  She  's  our  aunt  Ellen,  and  he  's 
our  uncle  Maurice,"  said  Bobby. 

"  I  '11  get  tea  for  you  directly,"  the 
woman  continued,  "for  I  know  little 
folks  is  always  hungry,  and  maybe  your 
father  "  — 

"  He  is  not  our  father ;  he  is  our  uncle 
Maurice  !  "  shouted  the  children. 
161 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

"  I  want  ter  know  !  Well,  your  uncle, 
maybe,  will  like  a  bit  of  steak." 

Before  Maurice  would  have  his  supper, 
he  insisted  upon  driving  back  to  Annersley 
to  let  Charlotte  and  Robert  know  by  tele- 
phone the  whereabouts  of  their  children. 

"It's  no  use  going  out  again  in  this 
dreadful  rain,"  said  Beatrice,  "  for  papa 
and  mamma  never  worry  about  us.  They 
'11  know  we  are  safe  somewhere." 

Maurice,  however,  was  not  to  be  dis- 
suaded from  his  purpose,  but  took  the 
solitary  drive  in  the  teeth  of  the  storm. 

When  he  returned,  Ellen  met  him  in 
the  entry.  "  How  wet  you  are !  "  she  said. 
"  I  am  very  sorry  !  The  children  were  so 
hungry  that  I  let  them  have  their  supper, 
but  I  have  waited  for  you.  I  hope  Robert 
was  properly  grateful !  " 

"  Grateful !  "  exclaimed  Maurice,  with 
a  little  laugh.  "  When  I  told  him  that 
you  and  the  children  were  safe  at  Farmer 
Brown's,  and  that  we  were  going  to  spend 
the  night  there,  he  said,  '  Hang  it,  Mau- 
rice, did  you  drive  all  the  way  back  to  An- 
nersley to  tell  me  that  ?  I  did  n't  suppose 
you  were  picnicking  in  the  middle  of  the 
162 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

road.'  And  then  I  heard  him  say  to  some 
one  near  at  hand,  presumably  Charlotte, 
'  What  a  fool  my  brother  Maurice  is  ! '  " 
He  suppressed  the  epithet  which  had  ac- 
companied the  words. 

"  How  unkind  of  him ! "  exclaimed 
Ellen  indignantly. 

"  Oh,  no,"  Maurice  returned  dispassion- 
ately, as  he  divested  himself  of  his  drip- 
ping overcoat.  "  After  an  acquaintance 
of  nearly  forty  years  with  his  brother 
Maurice,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  Robert  is  about  right." 

To  take  supper  in  the  old-fashioned 
kitchen,  with  Ellen  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table,  pouring  out  tea  for  him,  and  a 
little  boy  and  three  small  girls  for  his 
butler  and  maids,  was  a  new  experience 
for  Maurice,  but  one  that  was  still  more 
delightful  was  in  store  for  him.  When 
Ellen  started  to  go  upstairs  to  put  the 
children  to  bed,  she  was  uncertain  as  to 
whether  she  ought  to  come  down  again. 
Anything  so  charming  as  a  whole  evening 
alone  with  Mr.  Wentworth  her  New  Eng- 
land conscience  viewed  with  doubt.  Mrs. 
Brown  helped  to  dissipate  her  scruples 
163 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

when  she  opejied  the  door  into  the  parlor 
and  said,  "  I  hope  you  and  your  father  — 
Lord !  I  forget  that  he  is  your  uncle  — 
well,  I  hope  you  and  your  uncle  will  make 
yourselves  entirely  to  home." 

"  I  shall  see  you  again,  Ellen?"  Mau- 
rice said,  as  he  bade  the  children  good- 
night. 

"  I  was  just  wondering  whether  it  was 
worth  while  to  come  down,"  she  replied, 
with  hesitation. 

"Worth  while?"  His  face  clouded 
with  disappointment.  "  That  is  for  you 
to  judge.  But  I  will  promise  not  to  make 
you  talk  if  you  wish  to  be  silent,"  he  went 
on,  wholly  misunderstanding  her.  "  I  will 
read  to  you  whatever  you  like." 

When  she  came  downstairs,  half  an  hour 
later,  Maurice  was  obliged  to  retract  this 
statement.  "  I  made  a  rash  promise,"  he 
remarked.  "  I  can't  read  whatever  you 
like,  Ellen,  for  Mrs.  Brown's  library  con- 
sists of  but  three  volumes.  Which  shall 
it  be  ?  A  chapter  from  the  Bible,  extracts 
from  Pilgrim's  Progress,  or  a  play  of 
Shakespeare's?"  He  held  the  bulky 
Shakespeare  in  his  hand  as  he  spoke. 
164 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

"  I  won't  disappoint  you  by  insisting  on 
The  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  she  answered, 
with  a  smile.  "  Let  it  be  one  of  Shake- 
speare's plays." 

"  Which  one  ?  You  shall  choose  your 
favorite." 

"  If  it  is  to  be  my  favorite  play,  it  will 
be  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

"  Good  heavens,  child  !  not  that  ghastly 
tragedy !  Ellen,  you  show  how  young  you 
are  by  making  such  a  choice.  Let  me 
read  As  You  Like  It." 

"The  tragedies  are  so  much  more  ro- 
mantic," observed  Ellen. 

"And  you  really  prefer  tragedy  to 
mirth-provoking  humor  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Humor  is  so  commonplace.  Be- 
sides, I  can't  help  going  on  with  the  plays, 
and  thinking  of  the  matter-of-fact  lives 
that  the  heroes  and  heroines  lived  after- 
wards. I  am  sure  Orlando  scolded  Rosa- 
lind when  his  beefsteak  was  not  cooked  to 
a  turn,  and  that  he  held  her  responsible 
for  all  the  faults  of  their  children.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  wild  state  your  brother 
was  in  when  my  sister  was  making  up  her 
mind  whether  she  would  marry  him.  And 
165 


A  FAITHFUL  FATLUKE 

look  how  comfortably  prosaic  they  are 
now;  how  he  criticises  her  gowns,  and 
how  he  finds  fault  every  morning  with 
the  coffee !  " 

"  And  how  he  loves  her !  "  added  Mau- 
rice. "  I  can  hardly  imagine  his  life  apart 
from  hers." 

"  But  the  romance  is  gone,"  persisted 
Ellen.  "  Now  with  Romeo  and  Juliet 
everything  is  so  complete  !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  will  despise  me,  Ellen, 
as  an  old  fellow  without  any  sentiment, 
when  I  tell  you  that  my  ideal  of  happiness 
is  a  handsome  house  with  all  the  modern 
improvements,  and  a  wife,  who  may  be 
plain  and  unamiable,  but  who  must  know 
how  to  make  me  comfortable  !  " 

"Mr.  Wentworth!" 

"  I  have  not  knocked  about  the  world 
for  fifteen  years  without  having  gained  a 
realizing  sense  of  the  importance  of  good, 
matter-of-fact,  unromantic  prose.  Give 
me  a  creature  not  too  bright  and  good  to 
cook  human  nature's  daily  food !  " 

"  Mr.  Wentworth,  I  know  you  are  not 
in  earnest.  I  have  always  supposed  you 
were  too  "  —  she  hesitated  —  "I  have  al- 
166 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

ways  supposed  you  were  indifferent  to  such 
things." 

"Then  you  have  supposed  wrong.  It 
is  not  the  men  who  have  had  poor  coffee 
all  their  lives  who  are  indifferent  to  good 
coffee." 

Ellen  laughed. 

"  It  is  not  the  men  who  have  been  un- 
prosperous  all  their  lives  who  are  indif- 
ferent to  prosperity,"  he  went  on  more 
seriously. 

"  Why  have  you  been  unprosperous  ?  " 
she  asked  impulsively. 

"  Ah !  '  That  is  another  story,'  as  Kip- 
ling would  say.  It  is  not  a  tragedy  exactly 
after  Shakespeare's  manner,  and  yet  it  is 
not  a  comedy." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  your  life,  from  be- 
ginning to  end,"  she  entreated. 

"  It  is  not  an  interesting  story,  Ellen ; 
and  you,  with  your  love  of  romance,  will 
be  disturbed  because  it  is  not  more  com- 
plete. To  finish  it  off  neatly,  I  ought  to 
have  died  half  a  dozen  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  little  shiver. 
"Please  go  on,"  she  added,  after  a  mo- 
ment of  silence. 

167 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

"It  is  a  story  briefly  told.  I  have 
failed  at  everything,  and  when  I  had  the 
typhoid  fever,  six  years  ago,  I  even  failed 
to  die." 

"  Were  you  very  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  had  as  narrow  a  squeak  as 
any  man  ever  has  who  lives.  Forgive 
me,  Ellen ;  '  squeak,'  I  realize,  is  not  the 
language  of  Shakespeare." 

"Were  you  on  the  ranch  when  you 
were  ill  ? "  she  inquired  in  a  subdued 
voice. 

"Yes.  I  was  alone  for  days,  until  a 
neighbor  happened  to  drive  over  and  found 
me  half  unconscious.  But  here  I  am,  you 
see,"  he  ended  cheerfully,  "  all  ready  to 
read  aloud  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

"  I  want  to  hear  everything  about  your- 
self first,  from  the  very  beginning.  Why 
was  it  that  Robert  went  to  college  before 
you,  when  you  were  the  older  brother  ?  " 

"  Because  he  was  stronger  and  brighter 
and  more  determined  than  I.  Father  could 
only  afford  to  send  one  of  us ;  so  Robert 
went,  and  I  stayed  at  home  and  earned  the 
money  to  go  later." 

168 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

"  It  was  selfish  of  Robert  to  let  you  do 
it !  "  she  cried  indignantly. 

"  No,  it  was  weak  of  me.  If  I  were  to 
live  uiy  life  over  again,  I  should  fight  for 
my  rights  at  every  point." 

"  You  would  not  be  half  so  nice  if  you 
did." 

"  Thank  you,  —  perhaps  not ;  but  I 
should  be  a  great  deal  happier." 

"  Are  n't  you  happy  now  ? "  asked 
Ellen,  with  a  great  concern  in  her  brown 
eyes. 

"Just  at  this  moment  I  am  very 
happy." 

"  You  know  I  did  n't  mean  that.  You 
ought  to  be  happier  than  Robert,"  she 
proceeded  thoughtfully,  "  for  you  make 
everybody  happy." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  so  happy  as  Robert, 
all  the  same.  I  would  change  places  with 
him  in  a  minute,  if  I  had  the  chance.  At 
least,  I  would  if  I  could  go  back  a  dozen 
years." 

"  You  would  n't  change  places  with  him 
if  you  could.  You  would  want  to  keep 
your  individuality." 

169 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

"Think  what  he  has  accomplished," 
said  Maurice,  with  enthusiasm.  "  He  is 
not  only  happy  himself,  but  he  has  made 
a  great  many  other  people  happy." 

"  Yes.  I  certainly  ought  to  be  grateful 
to  him,  for  he  has  supported  me  ever  since 
I  was  twelve  years  old.  Only — perhaps 
I  can't  explain  myself  —  it  sometimes 
seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  better  to  fail 
than  to  succeed.  Prosperous  people  are 
apt  to  lose  their  sympathy  for  the  forlorn 
and  unsuccessful,  but  those  who  have  not 
succeeded  are  in  touch  with  all  sorrow  and 
failure  and  misery ;  and  the  unsuccessful 
class  is  such  a  large  one  that  to  belong  to 
it  implies  a  freemasonry  with  nine  tenths 
of  the  world." 

"  Ellen,  you  almost  make  me  deter- 
mine to  go  on  failing  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter." 

He  saw  by  the  quick  change  in  her  re- 
sponsive face  that  she  was  pained  because 
he  treated  her  words  lightly.  In  reality  he 
was  not  unappreciative.  On  the  contrary, 
it  was  because  he  was  afraid  of  expressing 
too  much  that  he  expressed  nothing.  He 
looked  at  the  young  girl  in  her  inharmo- 
170 


A   FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

nious  surroundings,  and  the  stiff  haircloth 
chair  in  which  she  sat  and  the  ugly  yel- 
low-and-green  sprigged  paper  on  the  walls 
instantly  became  dear  and  homelike. 
Even  the  scarlet  worsted  mat  under  the 
kerosene  lamp  was  faithfully  photographed 
upon  his  mental  retina.  These  things 
were  part  of  an  enchanting  present  which 
would  all  too  soon  be  only  an  enchanting 
past.  Ellen  wore  the  summer  uniform  of 
her  sex,  a  plain  dark  blue  serge  skirt  and 
a  blue  silk  shirt  waist  dotted  with  white, 
but  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  wore  them 
with  a  grace  and  distinction  that  were  all 
her  own.  He  was  glad  that  she  was  look- 
ing away  from  him,  as  he  could  rest  his 
eyes  upon  her  with  greater  confidence. 
He  would  not  have  altered  a  detail  of  her 
appearance.  The  soft  brown  hair  coiled 
in  the  knot  that  Robert  thought  too  sim- 
ple, the  complexion  which  Robert  thought 
too  pale,  the  large  dark  eyes  with  the 
long  lashes,  the  sweet  mouth  which  Rob- 
ert thought  too  grave,  were  all  a  part  of 
Ellen,  and  to  change  a  single  feature, 
even  to  its  advantage,  would  be  to  make 
her  less  completely  Ellen.  Suppose  she 
171 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

were  really  his  daughter,  as  their  hostess 
had  fancied?  In  this  case  his  life  and 
hers  would  be  inextricably  joined.  But 
no,  some  lover  would  ruthlessly  claim  her, 
—  he  felt  a  righteous  indignation  toward 
the  intruder,  —  and  the  next  moment  his 
wayward  imagination  was  picturing  how 
it  would  seem  to  be  Ellen's  lover. 

"Hear  the  rain  beat  against  the  win- 
dow !  "  she  said.  "  It  is  a  fearful  night. 
When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  used  to  be 
afraid  of  the  wind  when  it  shrieked  like 
that." 

"  Suppose  I  read  King  Lear,  since  you 
like  tragedy?  That  play  is  in  harmony 
with  the  storm." 

"  I  wish  you  had  your  essays  here,  and 
then  you  could  read  those." 

"  They  are  as  unsuccessful  as  the  rest  of 
my  career.  Sometimes  the  magazines  and 
newspapers  take  them,  but  oftener  they 
refuse  them.  They  are  not  essays,  by  the 
way,  but  merely  articles  about  the  woods 
and  fields  and  the  Western  country." 

"  Please  give  me  a  little  sketch  of  one." 

"  Ellen,  you  are  an  apt  pupil  of  my  bro- 
ther. Don't  start  me  on  that  subject,  or  I 
172 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

shall  feel  sure  that  you  are  taking;  his  ad- 
vice and  trying  to  draw  out  a  bore." 

Whatever  her  motive  might  have  been, 
it  is  certain  that  she  succeeded  in  making 
him  talk  more  freely  about  himself  than 
he  had  ever  done,  and  the  hours  sped  by 
only  too  quickly. 

"  What  time  is  it?"  she  asked  at  last, 
reluctantly. 

He  took  out  his  watch.  "  I  would  ra- 
ther not  tell  you,"  he  owned. 

Ellen  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Eleven  o'clock ! "  she  exclaimed  in 
horrified  accents.  "  And  I  thought  it  was 
n't  more  than  half -past  nine  !  " 

"  Good-night,  Ellen." 

He  clasped  her  slender  hand  in  his,  and 
wished  again  that  he  were  her  father,  that 
he  might  claim  a  father's  privilege.  In 
the  watches  of  the  night  he  admitted  that 
he  had  been  dishonest  with  himself :  he 
did  not  wish  that  he  were  Ellen's  father. 

That  night,  as  Ellen  lay  awake,  she  felt 
that  she  had  said  all  she  ought  not  to  have 
said,  and  left  unsaid  all  that  she  ought  to 
have  said.  Why  had  her  tongue  refused 
to  translate  the  message  of  her  heart,  and 
173 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

to  tell  Mr.  Wentworth  the  stimulus  that 
his  friendship  was  to  her  ?  Why  had  she 
not  said :  — 

"  When  I  was  a  little  girl,  you  showed 
me  all  the  treasures  of  the  woods  and  the 
fields.  You  taught  me  to  love  nature,  and 
to  feel  as  if  nothing  really  mattered  so 
long  as  one  had  God's  blue  sky  overhead 
and  a  world  of  beauty  at  one's  feet.  You 
taught  me  to  care  for  books,  and  to  feel 
that  one  never  could  be  dull  or  friendless 
with  these  good  comrades  at  hand.  Rob- 
ert has  given  me  an  outwardly  prosper- 
ous life,  but  he  would  have  left  my  mind 
cramped.  And  so,  I  believe  that  to  fail 
so  far  as  the  world  is  concerned,  but  to 
succeed  in  making  one  human  being  inde- 
pendent of  the  world,  is  better  than  to 
succeed,  as  the  world  calls  it,  but  to  fail 
in  regard  to  spiritual  things.  '  For  is  not 
the  life  more  than  meat  ? ' : 

Why  had  she  not  said  this  ?  It  was 
because  of  her  miserable  shyness  and  self- 
consciousness.  Instead  of  this  (oh,  morti- 
fying thought !  her  cheeks  burned  at  the 
recollection),  she  had  told  him  that  to  fail 
was  better  than  to  succeed,  thereby  imply- 
174 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

ing  that  his  life  had  been  a  failure.  Why 
had  she  not  urged  him  to  try  for  mere  ma- 
terial, worldly  success,  since  he  craved  it  ? 
It  was  because  no  one  had  ever  really  cared 
for  him  or  believed  in  his  powers  that  he, 
with  his  humble  estimate  of  himself,  had 
failed.  A  part  of  this  she  would  get  cour- 
age to  tell  him  in  the  morning,  for  Ellen 
was  still  young  enough  to  believe  in  "  to- 
morrow." 

Yet  alas !  when  to-morrow  came  it 
brought  altered  conditions.  Poor  Ellen 
could  not  determine  what  subtle  change 
had  come  over  Maurice  Wentworth,  and 
she  was  too  sensitive  and  shrinking  to  force 
her  mood  upon  him.  It  was  a  glorious 
morning,  and  there  was  no  excuse  for  lin- 
gering at  the  Browns'  farm  after  breakfast : 
and  indeed,  she  no  longer  cared  to  linger, 
for  the  charm  had  departed. 

When  they  reached  home,  and  Ellen 
saw  Charlotte  standing  in  the  doorway, 
she  felt  a  premonition  that  some  bad 
news  was  in  store  for  her. 

"  Dear  Ellen,"  her  sister  said,  "  I  want 
to  prepare  you  for  something  very  sad." 

Ellen's  heart  sank  still  lower  as  a  sud- 
175 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

den  memory  of  awful  sorrow  years  ago 
swept  over  her ;  then  it  gave  a  bound 
again  when  she  saw  Robert,  Hester,  and 
Eleanor. 

Charlotte  held  a  telegram  in  her  hand. 
"  Aunt  Martha  has  died,"  she  announced. 
"  The  funeral  is  to-morrow.  Robert  thinks 
that  all  three  of  us  had  better  go  down  to 
it,  as  Maurice  can  stay  with  the  children. 
I  am  so  sorry  for  poor  aunt  Ellen.  How 
lonely  she  will  be  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen  the  younger,  "  poor, 
poor  aunt  Ellen  !  " 

Her  mind,  however,  refused  to  feel  a 
realizing  sense  of  her  aunt's  sorrow.  She 
was  conscious  instead  of  a  passionate  re- 
gret that  this  journey  was  to  come  now, 
and  lessen  her  time,  already  too  short, 
under  the  same  roof  with  Maurice  Went- 
worth.  She  was  ashamed  of  her  lack  of 
sympathy,  and  would  fain  have  cried  be- 
cause she  had  no  tears  to  shed. 

Maurice  drove  them  to  the  station  the 
next  day,  in  the  same  wagon  that  had  so 
recently  gone  on  a  happier  errand,  and  he 
watched  the  train  wistfully  as  it  moved 
out  of  sight. 

176 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

When  the  travelers  came  home,  four 
days  later,  they  found  a  great  fire  of  fir 
cones  and  pine-balsam  burning  in  the  par- 
lor fireplace,  while  the  room  was  decorated 
with  cardinal  flowers  and  goldenrod,  in 
honor  of  their  return. 

Bobby  flew  to  greet  his  papa,  while  the 
younger  children  clung  joyfully  to  their 
mamma,  and  Beatrice  and  Hester  put 
their  arms  around  their  aunt. 

"  It  is  awfully  nice  to  get  you  back," 
said  Beatrice. 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time?"  asked 
Hester  timidly. 

"  Hester,"  Beatrice  remarked  severely, 
"  people  don't  have  a  good  time  at  fu- 
nerals." 

Poor  Hester,  who  had  meant  to  say 
something  quite  different,  and  was  more 
sympathetic  in  her  heart  than  any  of  the 
children,  retired,  crushed  and  humiliated, 
to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  where  she 
was  joined  by  her  uncle. 

"  Hester,"  he  began,  "  I   believe  you 

and  I  are  really  fonder  of  your  aunt  than 

the  other  children  are,  but  for  that  very 

reason  we  often  fail  to  say  the  right  thing. 

177 


A   FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

Suppose  we  go  now  and  tell  her  how  sorry 
we  are  that  she  has  had  this  long,  sad 
journey." 

He  took  Hester's  hand,  alike  uncon- 
scious of  the  passionate  love  and  grati- 
tude in  the  child's  heart  and  of  the  strong 
influence  he  was  already  exerting  over  her 
life,  and  they  crossed  the  room  to  where 
Ellen  sat  in  the  window-seat,  with  Bea- 
trice and  Carlotta  in  their  white  gowns 
making  a  sharp  contrast  against  the  som- 
bre folds  of  her  black  dress. 

"  We  have  come  to  tell  you  how  glad 
we  are  to  get  you  back,  and  how  sorry  we 
are  for  your  sorrow,"  said  Maurice. 

Ellen  raised  her  clear  eyes  to  his.  It 
seemed  dishonest  to  let  him  think  she  had 
suffered. 

"  I  never  knew  aunt  Martha  well  enough 
to  love  her,"  she  explained,  "  and  so  I  did 
not  grieve  for  myself,  but  merely  kept 
thinking  in  a  vague,  outside  way,  'How 
hard  it  must  be  to  lose  the  sister  with 
whom  one  has  lived  so  many  years ! '  Yet 
the  thought  did  not  touch  me.  It  only 
saddened  me,  as  one  is  saddened  by  sad 
music,  or  by  the  first  bleak,  gray  days  of 
178 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

winter.  It  was  a  mood,  not  a  reality; 
yet  now  I  have  come  away,  the  mood  still 
stays,  and  it  seems  as  if  I  could  never  be 
glad  any  more." 

"  How  funny  !  "  said  Beatrice.  "  I 
should  think  the  time  to  be  sad  was  at 
the  funeral,  and  that  you  'd  be  awfully 
glad  now  to  think  it  was  over.  Mamma 
and  papa  aren't  sad.  They  are  laughing. 
Goodness  !  Bobby  has  put  on  my  shade 
hat.  What  a  scamp  that  boy  is ! "  and 
she  slid  down  from  her  aunt's  lap  and 
proceeded  to  chastise  the  erring  Bobby. 

"  Robert  was  so  kind  and  sympathetic 
through  everything,"  Ellen  said  to  Mau- 
rice. "  He  is  the  best  fellow  in  the  world 
when  one  has  a  real  sorrow.  No  son 
could  have  been  kinder  than  he  was  to 
aunt  Ellen.  He  felt  her  grief  much  more 
keenly  than  I  did." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  yet  you  will  feel  it 
longer." 

"  I  shall  have  a  chance  to  feel  it  for 
a  long,  long  time,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low 
voice,  "for  I  am  going  to  live  with  my 
aunt  Ellen." 


179 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

"Robert,"  Charlotte  asked  that  night 
after  they  had  gone  upstairs,  "  has  it  ever 
occurred  to  you  that  Maurice  is  in  love 
with  Ellen?" 

"  Great  Scott !  What  put  that  absurd 
idea  into  your  head  ?  " 

"  I  have  suspected  it  for  some  time, 
but  I  was  sure  of  it  to-night  by  the  way 
he  took  the  news  of  her  going  to  live 
with  aunt  Ellen.  Do  you  suppose,  if  you 
get  that  position  for  him  at  Torrey  and 
Brown's,  that  he  will  offer  himself  to 
her?" 

"  Charlotte,  the  men  of  our  family  may 
be  fools,  but  they  are  not  knaves.  We 
don't  marry  when  we  have  n't  money 
enough  to  eke  out  a  decent  living." 

"But  Maurice  has  always  supported 
himself,  after  a  fashion." 

"  He  has  contrived  to  starve  with  phi- 
losophy, but  he  is  not  the  man  to  drag  a 
woman  into  starvation." 

"  It  seems  a  pity,  Robert,  that  such  a 
good  fellow  should  be  so  weak  in  some 
ways." 

"It  is  a  pity.  There  is  hope  for  the 
drunkard,  the  gambler,  or  the  libertine, 
180 


A  FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

for  the  very  qualities  that  dragged  him 
down  may  raise  him  up,  if  turned  to  good 
account ;  but  there  is  no  reforming  your 
conscientious,  self-distrustful,  and  conse- 
quently inefficient  man.  Lord !  what  a 
conscience  that  fellow  has  !  I  can't  think 
of  any  place  that  he  could  fill  with  en- 
tire satisfaction  to  himself,  unless  it  were 
matron  of  an  Orphans'  Home.  He  never 
could  get  rich  in  any  line.  He  is  the 
kind  of  man  who  always  puts  the  largest 
strawberries  in  the  bottom  of  the  box. 
He  won't  make  a  good  salesman  if  he 
gets  in  at  Torrey  and  Brown's,  for  he  will 
point  out  to  his  customers  every  flaw  in 
each  article.  By  the  way,  he  told  me, 
characteristically,  to  be  sure  to  tell  Tor- 
rey and  Brown  that  he  had  had  no  expe- 
rience as  a  salesman." 

"  If  his  eyes  were  only  stronger,  he 
could  be  editor  of  some  newspaper," 
Charlotte  suggested,  "for  he  is  clever 
with  his  pen." 

"  My  dear  child,  he  would  not  stay  on 

the  staff  of  a  paper  a  week,  for  he  would 

insist  upon  telling  the  truth,  the  whole 

truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.     It  is 

181 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

pleasant  to  look  forward  to  a  future 
world  for  such  men.  Maurice  is  very 
well  fitted  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ; 
only  he  would  want  to  change  places  with 
some  fellow  who  was  writhing  in  the 
other  kingdom  before  he  could  be  quite 
easy  in  his  mind." 

"  Robert,  what  troubles  me  more  than 
the  fact  that  Maurice  is  in  love  with  Ellen 
is  the  fear  that  she  cares  for  him.  If 
she  had  a  suspicion  of  his  feelings,  I 
am  afraid  she  would  be  only  too  glad  to 
*  starve '  with  him  *  with  philosophy.'  As 
she  can't  go  to  aunt  Ellen  for  a  month,  I 
wish  we  could  send  Maurice  away  now. 
Couldn't  Torrey  and  Brown  make  room 
for  him  at  once  ?  " 

"  I  will  write  to  them  this  moment  and 
find  out.  But,  my  dear,  I  can't  believe 
that  your  sister  would  be  such  an  idiot  as 
to  marry  a  man  who  could  earn  perhaps 
six  hundred  dollars  a  year." 

"  She  is  a  child  about  money  matters, 
and  she  will  reason  that  the  five  thou- 
sand dollars  aunt  Martha  left  her  will 
give  her  "  — 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a 
182 


A  FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

year,"  said  Robert  promptly.  "  At  aunt 
Ellen's  she  will  have  comforts  and  lux- 
uries, and  be  the  cherished  daughter  of 
the  house,  a  much  more  important  per- 
son than  she  could  ever  be  in  our  large 
family.  She  will  make  a  good  match  in 
time,  when  she  has  learned  her  own  value, 
for  she  is  a  pretty  girl,  and  a  sweet-tem- 
pered girl,  and  I  suppose,  if  she  lives 
with  your  aunt  Ellen,  she  will  eventually 
have  all  her  money.  Great  Scott !  Fancy 
a  girl's  throwing  away  all  these  chances 
to  live  with  Maurice  Wentworth  in  an 
attic !  " 

"  She  is  young  and  romantic,"  said 
Charlotte,  "  and  she  has  no  conception  of 
the  wear  and  tear  of  poverty.  If  we  can 
only  get  Maurice  away  at  once,  however, 
no  great  harm  will  have  been  done." 

"He  shall  go  this  week,  if  I  have  to 
drag  him  away  by  main  force." 

Robert,  who  had  never  failed  in  any 
undertaking,  did  not  fail  now,  and  conse- 
quently Maurice  found  himself,  at  the  end 
of  the  week,  about  to  start  for  New  York, 
to  be  a  clerk  in  the  wholesale  firm  of  Tor- 
183 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

rey  and  Brown,  at  a  salary  of  fifty  dollars 
a  month.  Small  as  the  sum  was,  he  was 
afraid  it  was  more  than  his  services  were 
worth.  He  knew  that  he  ought  to  be 
grateful  to  Robert,  instead  of  feeling  a 
smouldering  anger  at  the  irritating  way  in 
which  the  chance  was  offered  him,  as  if 
Robert  were  his  master,  and  he  a  faithful 
hound,  who  was  expected  to  take  a  cuff 
without  a  murmur,  because  it  was  accom- 
panied by  a  bone  ;  he  knew  that  he  was  in 
no  position  to  rebel  at  the  distastefulness 
of  the  work,  and  that  he  ought  to  be  glad 
it  was  to  begin  at  once  ;  but  every  other 
feeling  was  merged  in  blank,  dumb  despair 
at  the  prospect  of  the  immediate  parting 
from  Ellen. 

Maurice  spent  his  last  afternoon  on 
the  piazza,  with  a  book  in  his  hand  ;  but 
his  eyes  frequently  wandered  toward  the 
court  where  Ellen  was  playing  tennis  with 
Frank  Allen.  The  mellow  sunlight  fil- 
tered through  the  green  leaves  of  the  oak- 
tree  and  fell  on  her  slender  figure  in  the 
accustomed  blue  skirt  and  silk  waist  that 
seemed  so  much  more  a  part  of  her  than 
her  black  dress.  As  he  saw  her  swiftly 
184 


A  FAITHFUL   FAILURE 

sending-  the  balls  over  the  net,  with  appar- 
ently no  thought  in  her  mind  beyond  the 
game,  he  felt  that  she  had  entered  a  young 
world,  full  of  gayety  and  sunshine,  in 
which  he  had  no  part.  Only  the  other 
day  there  had  seemed  so  close  an  affinity 
between  them  that  he  had  forgotten  the 
barriers  of  poverty  and  age  ;  but  now  her 
youth  and  beauty  resumed  their  old  posi- 
tion in  his  thoughts.  At  the  end  of  the 
game  the  two  young  people  sat  down  on 
the  bench  under  the  oak-tree,  and  Maurice 
saw  that  Ellen  had  learned  her  lesson 
well,  for  there  was  the  same  expression  of 
attentive  gravity  on  her  face  which  only 
the  other  night  she  had  given  to  himself. 
A  blind  feeling  of  jealousy  seized  him,  as, 
in  fancy,  he  saw  her,  in  the  days  to  come, 
surrounded  by  a  throng  of  young  fellows, 
and  won  at  last  by  some  fortunate  man 
with  good  looks  and  wealth  for  his  allies. 
He  had  been  a  fool  to  think  that  this 
friendship  was  without  danger  for  him. 
He  knew  now  that  he  loved  her  with  his 
whole  strength  ;  that  in  fact  he  had  loved 
her  throughout  this  brief,  bright  summer. 
Perhaps  some  day  he  might  be  grateful 
185 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

for  this  taste  of  happiness,  but  at  the 
moment  his  heart  was  full  of  bitterness 
against  society,  and  the  miserable  limita- 
tions of  his  own  nature.  Why  was  he 
doomed  to  loneliness  and  failure,  when 
others  were  blessed  with  love  and  with 
success  ?  Was  not  his  heart  overflowing 
with  affection  ?  And  could  he  not  make  a 
woman  happy  ? 

When  Ellen  and  Frank  Allen  came  up 
the  piazza  steps,  on  their  way  into  the 
house,  Maurice  fixed  his  eyes  aggressively 
on  his  book.  Ellen  opened  the  door  into 
the  hall. 

"  Mr.  Allen,  you  will  find  my  sister 
inside,"  she  said.  "  She  will  amuse  you 
while  I  go  to  make  myself  presentable  for 
tea." 

Nevertheless  she  did  not  follow  him  into 
the  house.  She  came  over  to  the  corner 
where  Maurice  was  sitting.  He  did  not 
raise  his  eyes  from  his  book. 

"  I  have  come  to  say  my  own  especial 
good-by  to  you  now,"  she  began  in  a  low 
tone,  "  because  when  you  go  away  to-night 
it  will  be  a  general  good-by." 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  when 
186 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

the  good-by  is  said  ?  "  he  responded  almost 
roughly. 

She  turned  quickly  to  hide  her  tears. 
She  had  hoped  for  something  different,  for 
some  farewell  words  of  regret  that  their 
happy  summer  was  over,  perhaps  for  a 
request  that  she  would  write  to  him  some- 
times. In  that  moment,  her  past,  present, 
and  future  came  before  her  with  pano- 
ramic clearness,  and  Maurice  was  every- 
where the  central  figure.  She  remembered 
a  day  of  hopeless  misery  after  he  had  gone 
away  when  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  the 
nights  which  followed,  when  she  had  cried 
herself  to  sleep.  She  recollected  how  she 
had  waited  and  watched  for  a  letter,  that 
came  at  last,  for  he  never  disappointed 
children,  although  he  could  be  cruel  to 
older  people,  it  seemed.  Now  her  whole 
life  was  full  of  him,  when  he  was  present 
and  when  he  was  absent ;  and  he  was  to 
be  absent  again,  and  perhaps  absent  al- 
ways !  Well,  be  it  so !  And  since  she 
was  nothing  to  him,  her  pride  would  save 
her  from  ever  letting  him  know  how  weak 
she  had  been.  He  should  not  claim  a 
fraction  of  her  regard  whenever  he  saw 
187 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

fit  to  ask  for  it.  She  would  bid  him  a 
final  good-by.  As  she  turned  towards 
him  he  was  struck  by  something  in  her 
expression. 

"  Ellen,  you  expect  to  be  happy  with 
your  aunt  Ellen,  do  you  not  ?  "  he  ques- 
tioned. 

"Yes,  but  just  now  I  am  feeling  un- 
happy at  the  idea  of  leaving  my  sister 
and  the  children." 

"  That  is  perfectly  natural ;  but  you 
will  enjoy  life  as  soon  as  you  get  there. 
They  tell  me  that  you  are  to  have  more 
freedom,  and  that  you  will  know  a  great 
many  young  people  ;  that  will  be  pleasant 
for  you.  It  is  a  life  much  more  suited 
to  a  girl  of  your  age.  You  are  sure  to 
like  it." 

Ellen  turned  her  head  away  again 
abruptly.  "  Oh,  of  course,  I  shall  like 
it,"  she  said  quickly.  "  Children  are 
always  pleased  with  a  new  toy."  And 
she  went  into  the  house  without  another 
word. 

"  After  all,  I  was  mistaken  about  Ellen," 
Charlotte  said  to  Robert  that  night.  "  It 

188 


A  FAITHFUL  FAILURE 

is  evident  that  she  is  not  in  love  with 
Maurice,  for  she  was  so  friendly  when  she 
bade  him  good-by.  If  she  cared  for  him, 
she  would  have  been  colder,  or  else  less  at 
her  ease.  I  am  glad  that  you  sent  him 
away  in  time." 

"  Of  course  she  is  n't  in  love  with  him," 
her  husband  returned.  "  I  told  you  so  all 
along.  He  is  n't  the  kind  of  man  that 
girls  fancy.  Poor  fellow  !  He  is  destined 
to  be  a  failure  in  everything." 
189 


THE  QUEEN   OF  CLUBS 

THEEE  are  eighteen  clubs  and  classes 
in  Riverside,  and  my  sister  Eleanor  was 
asked  to  join  thirteen  of  them,  but  com- 
promised on  eight.  I  am  glad  that  I  am 
still  a  schoolgirl,  for  I  am  sure  that  I 
should  die  if  I  had  to  go  to  eight  clubs. 
In  addition  to  these  festive  gatherings 
among  the  rich  she  spends  one  evening 
in  the  week  at  a  Girls'  Club  for  the  poor. 
I  always  supposed  that  one  of  the  advan- 
tages of  poverty  was  that  you  did  not  have 
to  belong  to  clubs,  but  it  seems  that  even 
the  poor  cannot  escape  the  weight  of  their 
environment. 

Eleanor's  clubs  differ  in  importance  : 
there  is  one  glory  of  the  sun,  and  another 
of  the  moon,  while  besides  these  lumina- 
ries there  are  some  small  stars  and  one  or 
two  unimportant  fireflies.  There  is  in  es- 
pecial a  club  that  meets  in  Boston  every 
190 


THE   QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

Saturday  morning    that  might    be  called 
the  sun. 

Well,  as  I  remarked  before,  I  am  glad 
that  I  am  only  seventeen.  My  sister 
Eleanor  is  twenty-eight,  but  nobody  would 
ever  imagine  it.  I  am  sometimes  mistaken 
for  her,  which  makes  me  furious  ;  but  I 
ought  to  feel  flattered,  I  suppose,  for  she 
is  prettier  than  I  am.  Although  she  is  so 
much  quieter  than  I,  she  is  a  great  favorite. 
I  should  like  to  be  such  a  favorite,  except 
that  it  means  making  one's  self  agreeable 
to  so  many  stupid  people,  and  —  eight 
clubs  !  If  I  were  a  man,  J  should  fall  in 
love  with  Eleanor ;  not  that  it  would  do 
the  smallest  good,  only  I  could  not  help  it, 
for  she  is  so  sweet.  I  know  that  is  what 
Mr.  Morris  thinks  ;  and  he  would  agree 
with  me  in  being  certain  that  it  did  not 
do  any  good.  Indeed,  I  should  suppose 
he  would  feel  that  it  did  a  great  deal  of 
harm,  poor  fellow.  I  am  sure  that  he  has 
been  in  love  with  her  for  six  years  —  ever 
since  she  has  lived  with  aunt  Esther,  in 
fact ;  and  six  years  make  a  great  deal  of 
difference,  at  his  age.  He  never  was  very 
young,  —  that  is,  since  I  have  known  him ; 
191 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

but  now  he  is  really  old,  forty-one,  with 
gray  hair,  and  a  face  that  looks  as  if  it 
had  seen  better  days.  I  mean  in  the  way 
of  looks;  it  could  never  have  been  any 
more  amiable  than  it  is  now.  I  know 
Eleanor  would  like  him  if  she  lived  in  less 
of  a  whirl,  but  she  has  not  any  time  to 
fall  in  love. 

Lord  Byron  said  :  — 

"  Man's  love  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart, 
'T  is  woman's  whole  existence." 

Poor  antiquated  Lord  Byron  !  It  is  plain 
to  see  that  he  did  not  live  in  the  present 
day  in  Massachusetts !  What  time  has 
Eleanor  to  think  of  love  as  she  eats  a  hur- 
ried breakfast,  and  flies  —  no,  not  flies, 
for  Eleanor  is  always  dignified,  but  strolls 
down  town  rather  fast  on  a  Monday  morn- 
ing, to  do  her  marketing  early,  so  that 
she  may  not  be  late  for  the  Musical  Club  ? 
That  Musical  Club  is  the  one  thing  I  envy 
her,  for  I  can  play  pretty  well,  and  I  have 
quite  a  good  voice.  I  am  not  musical 
enough  for  the  club,  however,  for  the 
members  have  to  play  and  sing  uncom- 
monly well,  or  else  not  at  all.  Eleanor 
neither  plays  nor  sings,  but  she  looks  so 
192 


THE   QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

exquisitely  refined  and  so  pretty  in  her 
brown  hat  and  gown  that  she  lends  dis- 
tinction to  the  occasion  ;  and  then  she  is 
always  delightfully  sympathetic.  What 
people  want  is  sympathy.  I  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  is  better  not  to  try 
to  accomplish  some  great  work  in  the 
world,  but  simply  to  go  about  like  my  sis- 
ter Eleanor,  sympathizing  with  the  people 
who  do  things  well.  Of  course  there 
are  plenty  of  things  that  she  does  well, 
but  they  are  of  a  domestic  nature,  —  all 
of  them,  at  least,  except  whist.  Eleanor 
has  gone  into  whist  lately,  and  she  plays 
a  fine  game.  She  belongs  to  three  whist 
clubs  ;  two  of  them  meet  in  the  afternoon, 
and  one  meets  in  the  evening.  The  Tues- 
day afternoon  club  is  very  swell,  and  aunt 
Esther  insists  upon  her  going  to  it  every 
week,  but  she  can't  understand  why  she 
wastes  her  time  with  the  Wednesday  club. 
Eleanor  says  they  play  whist  better  in  the 
Wednesday  club,  but  aunt  Esther  does 
not  see  that  this  is  of  any  consequence. 
Eleanor  certainly  has  no  time  to  think  of 
love  on  Monday,  Tuesday,  or  Wednesday  ; 
and  Thursday  is  equally  full ;  for  there  is 
193 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

the  Renaissance  Club  in  the  afternoon, 
and  the  Whist  Club  in  the  evening ;  while 
on  Friday  —  dear  me,  I  have  forgotten 
what  happens  on  Friday  morning,  but  it 
is  something  very  important,  and  then 
there  are  the  Symphony  Rehearsals  in 
the  afternoon,  and  the  Girls'  Club  in  the 
evening ;  and  as  for  Saturday,  it  is  the 
busiest  day  of  all.  Eleanor  leaves  home 
directly  after  breakfast,  and  does  not 
appear  again  until  tea-time.  I  wish  it 
were  late  dinner,  but  it  is  n't,  because 
aunt  Esther  is  so  old  fashioned ;  it  is 
only  plebeian,  unsubstantial,  unsatisfac- 
tory tea. 

When  I  came  to  spend  the  winter  here, 
mamma  told  me  to  be  sure  to  keep  a  jour- 
nal and  record  my  impressions.  She  said 
I  must  give  up  being  frivolous,  and  be- 
come precisely  like  a  Boston  girl.  She 
told  me  that  they  were  all  so  intellectual 
here ;  but  I  am  sure  that  Eleanor  is  n't ; 
she  hardly  reads  at  all.  She  is  read  to, 
however,  a  great  deal  at  her  clubs.  This 
saves  time,  because  she  does  not  have  to 
stop  to  hunt  up  the  books,  and  it  is  more 
sociable.  They  say  in  New  York  that 
194 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

everybody  is  reading  in  Boston  all  the 
time,  in  all  sorts  of  odd  places,  but  I  have 
never  noticed  it,  except  among  the  men 
in  the  electric  cars,  and  they  all  read 
the  newspapers  diligently,  —  especially 
when  there  are  ladies  standing.  I  have 
discovered  why  men  in  other  cities  are  so 
much  more  polite  about  giving  up  their 
seats :  it  is  because  the  cars  are  not  so 
crowded,  and  they  never  have  to  stand 
long.  There  are  some  men,  however,  who 
cheerfully  relinquish  their  seats  here,  and 
Edward  Morris  is  one  of  them.  I  al- 
ways come  back  to  him,  no  matter  with 
what  subject  I  start.  He  is  very  nice.  I 
wish  he  were  twenty-one  instead  of  forty- 
one,  and  were  in  love  with  me.  We  are 
excellent  friends,  and  I  often  think  of  ad- 
vising him  to  offer  himself  to  Eleanor  by 
letter.  There  is  never  any  time  for  him 
to  do  it  in  any  other  way,  for  on  the  rare 
occasions  when  she  is  at  home  the  house 
is  filled  with  people.  I  believe  that  if  he 
were  to  offer  himself  to  her  often  enough 
by  letter  he  might  make  an  impression  on 
her  after  a  while,  just  as  an  advertisement, 
which  they  say  nobody  sees  at  first,  catches 
195 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

the  eye  when  it  has  been  read  several  times. 
He  might  say  :  — 

u  MY  DEAR  ELEANOR,  —  Won't  you 
cease  to  be  queen  of  clubs,  and  be  queen 
of  my  heart  ?  Pray  listen  to  me  on  ac- 
count of  my  long  suit.  It  has  lasted  for 
six  years  ;  and  although  it  is  not  a  suit  of 
diamonds,  at  least,  thank  Heaven,  it  is 
not  a  suit  of  clubs." 

If  this  failed  to  touch  her  heart,  he 
could  send  a  Musical  Club  offer  a  little 
later  :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  ELEANOR,  —  The  andante 
movement  has  been  going  on  for  six  years. 
Let  us  have  something  a  little  more  rapid. 
My  life  has  hitherto  been  in  a  minor 
key  ;  won't  you  henceforth  make  it  in  A 
major  ?  " 

If  this  did  not  suffice,  it  could  be 
followed  by  an  offer  appropriate  to  a 
young  woman  who  founded  a  club  to  in- 
vestigate the  Middle  Ages  and  the  Re- 
naissance :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  ELEANOR,  —  I  am  now  in 
a  position  thoroughly  to  understand  the 
middle  age  ;  and  as  you  are  evidently  anx- 
ious to  learn  about  that  period,  I  would 
196 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

suggest  that  instead  of  going  to  a  club 
once  a  week  for  that  purpose,  you  should 
study  the  subject  in  a  tranquil  manner  at 
home  every  day  with  me.  It  would  truly 
be  a  renaissance  to  me  if  you  would  take 
me,  my  dear  girl." 

How  could  she  resist  such  appeals, 
especially  if  they  were  followed  by  five 
other  equally  appropriate  offers  ? 

Poor  Mr.  Morris  is  so  busy  that  he 
does  not  often  get  an  evening  to  him- 
self, much  less  an  afternoon  ;  but  once 
in  a  great  while  he  makes  an  effort,  and 
comes  to  see  us.  Eleanor  once  told  him 
that  she  was  always  at  home  on  Mon- 
day, and  he  said,  "If  you  will  tell  me 
when  you  are  not  '  at  home,'  I  will  come 
then." 

"How  flattering  !  "  she  retorted,  with  a 
little  laugh. 

"  I  mean  that  I  would  rather  come 
when  you  are  by  yourselves,  without  all 
the  world,"  he  explained. 

"  All  the  world  does  not  come  on  Mon- 
day," said  Eleanor.     "  On  the  contrary, 
sometimes  aunt   Esther  and   I   sit   here 
alone  the  whole  afternoon." 
197 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

In  consequence  of  these  encouraging 
words,  he  tried  it  one  Monday  ;  but  unfor- 
tunately, two  of  the  Turners  and  Fanny 
Williams  and  old  Mrs.  Grant  dropped 
in  at  the  same  time.  He  sat  on  a  small 
chair,  looking  very  unhappy,  and  drink- 
ing tea  out  of  an  eggshell  cup  because 
Eleanor  had  made  it,  —  the  tea,  I  mean. 
There  was  a  thimbleful  of  tea  in  the  cup, 
and  also  a  big  lump  of  sugar  which  he 
stirred  with  a  tiny  spoon,  the  right  size 
for  a  Tom  Thumb,  and  he  is  so  large  ; 
he  positively  seemed  like  a  giant.  I  could 
see  that  aunt  Esther  was  eying  her  slen- 
der, spindle-legged  chair  with  apprehen- 
sion. All  he  gained  by  the  call  was  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  Eleanor  behind  a  little 
tea-table,  looking  awfully  pretty  in  a  pink 
gown  while  she  chatted  with  Fanny  Wil- 
liams. Eleanor  does  not  talk  much,  but 
she  listens  so  intelligently  that  you  al- 
ways feel  as  if  the  conversation  had  been 
equally  divided.  Mr.  Morris  had  a  good 
deal  of  talk  with  his  cousin,  Mrs.  Grant ; 
or,  to  speak  accurately,  he  did  a  good 
deal  of  intelligent  listening,  and  I  hope 
he  did  not  find  her  such  a  bore  as  I  do. 
198 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

When  he  saw  me  passing  through  the 
hall  in  my  school  things  he  rose  with 
alacrity,  for  I  made  a  face  at  him  as  he 
sat  there  looking  as  if  he  had  lost  his  last 
friend. 

"  Must  you  leave  us  so  soon  ?  "  Eleanor 
asked  him,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  take  a  little  walk 
with  your  sister." 

"  I  know  that  it  was  very  wrong  of  me 
to  make  up  that  face,"  I  said,  as  we  set 
off  together,  "  but  next  year  I  shall  be 
grown  up  and  can't  do  such  things,  so  I 
must  make  the  most  of  my  time." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  come  out  next  win- 
ter, Julia,  and  go  to  parties  and  clubs  like 
all  the  rest  of  the  world,"  he  remarked, 
with  a  little  sigh. 

"  I  am  never  coming  out,"  I  replied. 
"  I  am  going  to  stay  in  always.  I  shall 
be  at  home  every  day  in  the  week." 

"  So  you  think  now,  —  so  Eleanor 
thought  once ;  but  the  pressure  is  too 
strong  on  you  girls." 

We  had  a  nice  walk,  and  a  long  talk 
about  my  school  and  all  the  girls,  and  I 
forgot  all  about  Eleanor  and  his  love  for 
199 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

heri  He  is  the  kind  of  person  who  makes 
one  talk  about  one's  own  affairs. 

He  did  not  try  coming  again  on  Mon- 
day, poor  man  !  As  ill  luck  would  have 
it,  he  selected  a  Thursday  afternoon  when 
the  Renaissance  Club  met  at  our  house. 
He  was  shown  into  the  parlor,  through 
some  mistake  ;  perhaps  the  maid  thought 
that  he  was  the  lecturer.  He  was  well 
inside  the  door  before  he  discovered  what 
was  going  on,  for  he  is  very  near-sighted, 
and  then  he  looked  so  blank.  The  ladies 
were  intensely  interested ;  most  of  them 
know  him  a  little,  and  they  have  been 
wondering  for  the  last  six  years  whether 
Eleanor  would  marry  him  or  not.  I  am 
sure  they  must  have  thought  that  the 
wedding  day  was  set.  Eleanor  was  not 
in  the  least  embarrassed  when  she  saw 
him.  My  sister  Eleanor  is  always  per- 
fectly calm,  and  rather  cold. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Mor- 
ris," she  said.  "  I  will  tell  Julia  that  you 
are  here." 

She  did  not  know  that  I  was  peeping 
through  the  dining-room  door. 

It  happened,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Morris 
200 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

and  I  had  another  walk,  and  he  heard 
more  about  my  school  and  the  Saturday 
evening  dancing  class,  and  he  appeared 
very  much  interested.  Men  are  so  much 
more  sympathetic  than  women.  I  sup- 
pose it  is  because  nowadays  they  don't 
have  half  so  much  on  their  minds. 

That  evening  aunt  Esther  spoke  to  me 
seriously.  She  said  that  she  did  not  like 
the  way  in  which  I  was  devoting  myself 
to  Edward  Morris,  for  it  seemed  disloyal 
to  Eleanor.  I  laughed  at  first,  and  I 
can't  remember  all  that  passed,  but  she 
implied,  finally,  that  I  was  trying  to  make 
him  fall  in  love  with  me  for  the  sake  of 
amusing  myself,  and  she  told  me  he  was 
too  good  a  man  for  me  to  make  unhappy. 
I  grew  very  angry  at  last,  and  I  said,  "  I 
am  not  amusing  myself ;  I  can  promise 
you  safely  that  if  he  asks  me  to  marry 
him  I  will  do  it.  I  am  seventeen  and  he 
is  forty-one,  to  be  sure,  but  when  I  am 
fifty-seven  and  he  is  eighty-one  we  shall 
be  practically  the  same  age." 

It  was  very  silly  of  me.  I  don't  know 
what  aunt  Esther  thinks.  Sometimes  I 
fancy  that  she  believes  I  was  in  earnest. 
201 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

As  for  Eleanor,  she  is  more  wrapped  up 
in  her  clubs  than  ever. 

January  9.  Mr.  Morris  came  one  even- 
ing last  week,  but,  unfortunately,  he  hit 
upon  a  night  when  Eleanor  was  at  the 
Girls'  Club.  I  advised  him  to  come  some 
Sunday  evening,  and  last  night  he  ap- 
peared ;  but  Eleanor  was  so  worn  out 
with  the  fatigue  of  the  week,  joined  to 
the  depraved  actions  of  her  Sunday- 
school  class,  that  she  had  gone  to  bed 
early. 

January  17.  Mr.  Morris  called  again 
last  night.  I  was  determined  that  he 
should  have  a  chance  to  see  Eleanor 
alone,  so  I  brought  my  German  books, 
and  asked  aunt  Esther  if  she  would  not 
come  into  the  other  room  and  help  me 
with  my  lesson ;  but  the  dear  soul  pro- 
posed a  game  of  whist.  Theoretically 
she  realizes  that  Mr.  Morris  comes  to  see 
Eleanor  rather  than  herself,  but  practi- 
cally there  is  never  any  especial  occasion 
when  it  occurs  to  her  to  leave  them  to 
themselves.  She  says  that  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  a  man  to  see  a  girl  in  her  home, 
with  her  family  about  her ;  but  I  think 
202 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

that  it  is  pleasanter  for  the  family  than 
for  the  man  and  the  girl. 

Aunt  Esther  delights  in  whist,  but  she 
does  not  play  the  modern  game.  She 
always  tells  her  partner,  with  one  of  her 
pleasant  smiles,  that  she  has  never  learned 
how  to  make  trump  signals,  and  that  she 
has  played  all  her  life  and  has  found  it 
to  her  advantage  to  lead  from  her  short 
suit.  I  like  that  kind  of  game,  and  as 
Eleanor  and  Mr.  Morris  prefer  science,  I 
proposed  that  she  should  play  with  me ; 
but  she  said  she  would  rather  have  Ed- 
ward Morris  for  a  partner,  as  in  that  case 
she  would  be  more  likely  to  beat.  Aunt 
Esther  was  especially  trying  last  night. 
It  took  her  a  long  time  to  decide  what  to 
play.  She  has  been  taking  lessons  in  the 
Delsarte  system,  and  has  learned  how  to 
relax  ;  and  once  when  she  was  particu- 
larly long,  I  could  not  help  saying  that  I 
was  afraid  Eleanor  and  Mr.  Morris  did 
not  like  relaxed  whist. 

Life  is  an  odd  mixture,  and  most  of  it 

is  a  great  deal  duller  than  novels  lead 

one  to  expect,  as  I  am  sure  Mr.  Morris 

must  have  thought  as  he  sat  there  all  the 

203 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

evening  opposite  placid,  aggravating  aunt 
Esther.  Life  is  very  like  the  Saturday 
evening  dancing  class.  There  is  a  good 
deal  of  sitting  around  and  waiting ;  there 
are  a  few  adorable  turns  and  a  kaleido- 
scopic change  of  partners,  then  —  silence  ! 
The  evening  is  over,  and  the  lights  are 
put  out.  Life  is  n't  very  serious,  at  least 
in  the  nineteenth  century  in  Boston,  but 
it  is  rather  amusing,  and  I  suppose  we 
should  all  miss  the  hurry,  the  rush,  and 
the  mad  dance. 

January  21.  How  lightly  I  wrote  only 
four  nights  ago  !  A  terrible  thing  has 
happened  that  has  changed  the  whole 
world.  How  could  I  ever  have  thought 
that  life  was  anything  but  solemn  and 
serious  and  awful? 

I  will  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  write 
it  all  out  just  as  it  occurred.  Thursday 
evening  Mrs.  Emery  sent  over  to  say  that 
she  was  in  dire  need  of  a  substitute  at  her 
whist  club,  and  to  ask  if  Eleanor  would 
bring  me.  Poor  woman,  she  must  have 
been  in  sore  distress  indeed  before  she 
sent  for  me !  Eleanor  arranged  that  I 
should  be  her  partner.  The  dear  girl 
204 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

hates  to  play  with  me,  but  she  dislikes 
still  more  to  inflict  me  on  any  one  else.  I 
was  frightened  at  the  idea  of  playing  in  a 
whist  club,  so  of  course  I  made  more  mis- 
takes than  ever.  Eleanor  did  not  scold 
me,  —  she  never  scolds,  —  but  she  grew  a 
little  stiffer  and  a  shade  quieter.  It  ap- 
peared at  the  moment  as  if  her  whole 
mind  and  heart  and  soul  were  set  upon 
winning  that  especial  rubber  of  whist.  I 
wanted  to  laugh,  as  I  looked  around  the 
room  and  saw  the  intense,  anxious  faces. 
There  was  no  "  relaxed  whist "  that  night. 

I  don't  remember  how  long  we  had 
been  playing,  when  the  maid  came  and 
whispered  something  into  Dr.  Emery's 
ear.  He  rose  quickly  and  left  the  room. 
He  was  followed  by  his  wife  and  Mr. 
Remington.  Mrs.  Emery  came  back  di- 
rectly. 

"  There  has  been  an  accident,"  she  said. 
"  A  man  has  been  run  over  by  one  of  those 
terrible  electric  cars.  I  can  never  get 
used  to  them  ;  they  seem  to  me  like  steam 
engines  let  loose." 

We  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  to  dis- 
cuss the  accident ;  but  whist  is  whist,  and 
205 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

a  game  in  the  hand  is  worth  more  than  an 
unknown  man  under  the  wheel. 

"  Probably  he  is  an  Irishman,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  he  had  been  drinking," 
said  Mrs.  Emery. 

We  all  accepted  this  comfortable  theory, 
and  those  of  us  who  were  not  playing  at 
Dr.  Emery's  table  were  soon  once  more 
cheerfully  absorbed. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  Mr.  Rem- 
ington returned.  I  heard  a  whispered  con- 
sultation between  him  and  Mrs.  Emery, 
and  caught  the  words,  "  You  had  better 
not  tell  her."  I  also  overheard  Edward 
Morris's  name. 

The  room  swam  before  my  eyes,  and  I 
caught  at  the  table  to  prevent  myself  from 
falling.  I  lost  all  presence  of  mind. 

"  Is  Mr.  Morris  dead  ?  "  I  gasped. 

"  No,  dear ;  no,  indeed,"  Mrs.  Emery 
answered  in  a  soothing  tone.  "  There  is 
no  danger,  we  trust ;  but  he  has  met  with 
severe  injuries,  and  my  husband  has  gone 
with  him  to  the  hospital." 

It  was  singular  what  a  difference  it 
made  in  our  feelings  when  we  found  that 
the  man  who  had  been  run  over  was  not  a 
206 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

stranger.  Everybody  was  so  sorry  and  so 
sympathetic ;  every  one,  at  least,  except 
Eleanor.  She  sat  there  as  rigid  as  a  statue, 
looking  as  if  she  wished  all  this  commo- 
tion were  over,  so  that  she  might  finish 
her  game.  I  could  have  killed  her,  —  I 
really  could,  if  the  ace  of  clubs  in  my  hand 
had  been  the  implement  of  that  name  in- 
stead of  a  bit  of  pasteboard.  I  could  see 
that  all  the  ladies  in  the  room  were  look- 
ing stealthily  at  her,  and  then  at  me.  She 
could  see  it,  too.  She  drew  herself  up 
a  little  straighter,  if  that  were  possible, 
and  said,  "  Julia,  you  must  control  your- 
self ;  everything  is  being  done  for  Mr. 
Morris  that  can  be  done ;  you  must  not 
spoil  the  evening.  Spades  are  trumps,  I 
believe." 

I  am  sure  they  all  knew  then  that  she 
was  not  engaged  to  Edward  Morris. 

I  tried  to  play.  I  tried  to  keep  back 
my  tears,  but  a  few  would  fall  on  the  ace 
of  clubs,  and  I  ended  by  putting  the  hate- 
ful thing  on  Eleanor's  king. 

"  I  had  taken  that  trick,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  I  don't  care  if  you  had !  "  I  burst  out. 
207 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

"  I  don't  care  anything  about  this  wretchec 
game.  I  want  to  go  home.  I  am  very  un- 
happy ;  please,  please  let  me  go  home." 

Eleanor  rose.  "  I  hope  you  will  excuse 
us,  Mrs.  Emery,"  she  said.  "  Pray  do  not 
let  us  break  up  your  evening,  but  I  think 
that  I  had  better  take  my  sister  home. 
She  and  Mr.  Morris  are  old  friends,  and 
she  feels  this  very  much." 

Mr.  Remington  telephoned  for  our  car- 
riage, and  he  also  telephoned  to  the  hospi- 
tal to  learn  the  latest  news  concerning  Mr. 
Morris.  It  seemed  that  he  had  reached 
his  destination  safely,  but  was  uncon- 
scious ;  and  although  his  life  was  in  no 
immediate  danger,  he  would  probably 
have  a  long,  serious  illness.  We  all 
recognized  the  reserved  nature  of  the  mes- 
sage "  in  no  immediate  danger,"  and  our 
hearts  sank. 

Eleanor  was  very  gentle  with  me.  She 
did  not  reprove  me  for  my  outburst,  and 
after  we  were  in  the  carriage  she  took  my 
hand  in  hers,  but  I  snatched  it  away. 

"  Don't   touch  me !  "    I   cried  fiercely. 
"You   are  as  cold  and  hard  as  a  stone. 
You  ought  to  love  him  with  your  whole 
208 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

heart,  but  you  have  no  heart,  and  you 
leave  it  to  me  to  grieve  for  him ;  to  me, 
when  I  am  only  the  least  of  his  friends." 

Eleanor  said  nothing. 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  are  responsible  for 
this  accident,"  I  went  on,  rendered  quite 
beside  myself  by  her  calmness.  "  He  was 
thinking  of  you  when  his  foot  slipped. 
If  you  had  been  a  little  good  to  him, 
instead  of  trying  to  help  a  lot  of  people 
in  clubs,  it  would  not  have  happened. 
And  perhaps  you  have  killed  him,"  I 
added. 

"  Don't,  Julia,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
shudder. 

At  this  point  I  began  to  cry,  and  I 
sobbed  all  the  way  home  as  if  my  heart 
would  break. 

Aunt  Esther  met  us  at  the  door  with  a 
surprised  but  an  approving  face. 

"  How  early  you  are !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  This  is  a  sensible  hour.  Edward  Mor- 
ris was  here  this  evening,  Eleanor,  and  he 
seemed  quite  hurt  when  he  did  not  find 
you.  He  said  he  had  written  to  tell  you 
that  he  was  coming." 

"  I  never  got  the  note,"  Eleanor  replied. 
209 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

"  No,  it  came  at  noon,  and  I  put  it  on 
the  mantelpiece  in  the  library  with  your 
other  letters,  and  I  did  not  remember  to 
give  them  to  you ;  for  you  were  at  home 
only  long  enough  to  take  your  tea  and 
dress  for  the  club."  Aunt  Esther  handed 
her  the  letters,  and  Eleanor  took  them  and 
started  to  go  upstairs. 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  said,  "  and  so  I  will 
bid  you  good-night.  Julia,  you  must  tell 
aunt  Esther  why  we  came  home  early." 

"  I  hope  you  were  not  badly  beaten," 
aunt  Esther  observed. 

"  Beaten  ?  "  Eleanor  repeated  vaguely, 
with  a  curious,  absent  look  on  her  face. 
"  Oh,  in  whist  ?  No,  thank  you  ;  at  least 
I  don't  remember.  I  think  —  I  think  I 
will  say  good-night." 

I  told  aunt  Esther  the  news,  and  then 
I  hurried  upstairs ;  but  quick  as  I  was, 
Eleanor  had  already  locked  the  door  be- 
tween her  room  and  mine.  I  knocked,  but 
had  no  response.  I  knocked  again,  and 
again  there  was  no  answer.  I  paused  and 
listened.  There  was  a  faint,  muffled  sound 
on  the  other  side  of  the  door.  I  knew 
then  that  Eleanor  was  crying,  and  the  fact 
210 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

awed  me,  for  I  could  not  remember  hav- 
ing heard  her  cry  since  father  died,  six 
years  ago. 

"  Eleanor,  let  me  in,"  I  begged.  "  I 
understand  it  all  now,  dear.  Please  for- 
give me,  and  please,  please  let  me  in." 

But  Eleanor  would  not  open  the  door. 

I  was  so  wretched  that  I  was  sure  I 
should  stay  awake  all  night;  for  how 
could  I  sleep  until  she  had  forgiven  me  ? 
And  then  I  fell  asleep  while  I  was  think- 
ing it  over,  miserable,  faithless  wretch 
that  I  was ! 

In  the  morning  I  awoke  earlier  than 
usual.  The  door  was  open  between  Elea- 
nor's room  and  mine,  and  every  thing  looked 
so  pleasantly  familiar  that  my  first  feeling 
was,  what  it  always  is,  joy  that  I  was  in 
this  happy  world.  Then  I  remembered 
that  perhaps  there  would  never  be  any  joy 
for  us  again. 

I  went  softly  into  Eleanor's  room.  She 
was  lying  on  the  sofa,  with  her  wrapper  on, 
and  a  letter  tightly  clasped  in  her  hand. 
Her  face  was  so  pale  that  I  was  frightened 
at  first,  and  thought  she  had  fainted ;  but 
I  soon  found  she  had  fallen  asleep  after  a 
211 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

long,  anxious  night.  How  long  and  how 
anxious  it  had  been  I  could  only  faintly 
fancy,  for  a  glance  at  her  face  made  me 
conscious  that  my  sorrow  was  a  childish 
feeling  compared  with  hers. 

While  I  was  standing  by  her,  Eleanor 
opened  her  eyes.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
look  on  her  face  when  she  tried  to  smile 
as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"  We  shall  hear  some  good  news  to-day, 
dear,"  she  began ;  then  her  lip  trembled, 
and  then  —  it  was  she  who  was  sobbing, 
with  her  head  on  my  shoulder  and  my 
arms  around  her  neck. 

"  Julia,  he  does  love  me,"  said  she. 

"  You  need  not  tell  me  that  when  I  have 
known  it  for  six  years." 

"  I  did  not  know  it,  and  I  don't  think 
he  knew  it  until  lately,  but "  —  She  held 
up  the  letter  by  way  of  an  ending  to  her 
sentence.  I  could  not  help  seeing  the  first 
words. 

"  '  My  dear  Queen  of  Clubs,'  "  I  read 
aloud,  half  unconsciously. 

Eleanor  covered  the  precious  document 
with  her  hand,  and  we  both  laughed  for- 
lornly. "Eleanor,  how  could  you  be  so 
212 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

calm  when    you   heard    the  news  of   the 
accident  ?  "  I  asked  impetuously. 

"  Would  you  have  had  me  show  all 
those  people  what  I  felt,  when  I  did  not 
know  that  he  cared  for  me?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"  If  you  did  not  know  that  he  loved  you, 
you  were  a  very  stupid  person." 

"  We  were  always  good  friends,"  said 
Eleanor,  "  and  my  life  was  such  a  full  one 
that  until  lately  I  never  felt  the  need  of 
anything  else  ;  and  then  —  then  —  I 
thought  he  was  in  love  with  you." 

"  With  me  ?  "  I  said  scornfully. 

"  Julia  dear,"  she  began  eagerly,  "  I 
hope  —  I  hope  "  — 

At  last  I  comprehended  everything. 

"  Yes,  I  love  him,"  I  said  firmly.  "  I 
love  him  like  a  brother,  like  a  father,  — 
like  a  grandfather,  if  you  will.  Darling, 
does  that  make  you  jealous  ?  Are  n't  you 
willing  that  I  should  love  him  like  a 
grandfather,  Eleanor  dear  ?  " 

The    next    morning    aunt  Esther    and 
Eleanor  went  to  the  hospital,  but  they  re- 
turned with  sad   faces.     Edward  Morris 
was  still  unconscious. 
213 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

January  24.  We  have  had  a  terrible 
week.  Mr.  Morris  has  concussion  of  the 
brain,  and  his  recovery  is  doubtful.  Elea- 
nor has  abandoned  all  her  clubs,  and  does 
not  seem  to  care  any  longer  what  people 
think,  but  she  is  very  quiet  and  calm. 

February  3.  I  am  used  to  Mr.  Mor- 
ris's illness  now,  for  everything  is  so  ex- 
actly the  same  at  school  and  at  dancing 
school.  I  should  die  if  I  were  as  unhappy 
all  .the  time  as  I  was  that  first  night ;  so 
I  try  to  think  that  he  is  going  to  get  well, 
and  to  forget  Eleanor's  sad  face. 

February  12.  The  doctor  is  afraid  that 
Edward  Morris  will  not  live  many  days. 
This  is  frightful  —  though  it  is  possible 
that  he  may  linger  for  weeks,  or  even 
months.  I  cannot  grasp  the  idea  of  his 
dying.  It  seems  impossible  that  he  can 
go  away  from  us  altogether.  In  the  be- 
ginning I  realized  all  the  possibilities,  but 
now  that  we  have  had  this  respite  I  can't 
believe  that  anything  so  overpoweringly 
sad  will  happen ;  and  after  all,  there  is 
still  a  faint  chance  that  he  may  rally. 

Mrs.  Grant  is  going  to  have  the  whist 
club  just  the  same,  even  though  she  is  his 
214 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

cousin.  She  says  that  one  can't  give  up 
everything  for  an  indefinite  period  on  an 
uncertainty.  I  believe  that  they  would 
play  whist  on  the  edge  of  his  grave,  —  all 
except  Eleanor ;  she  does  not  play  any 
more.  She  and  aunt  Esther  go  in  every 
day  to  the  hospital  to  see  if  there  is  any- 
thing that  they  can  do,  but  Mr.  Morris 
does  not  know  them.  Poor  Eleanor !  she 
realizes  the  situation  only  too  well. 

February  23.  I  am  so  happy  that  there 
are  no  words  in  the  English  language  to 
tell  my  delight.  Edward  Morris  is  out  of 
danger.  He  will  be  an  invalid  for  a  year 
or  two,  as  he  will  not  be  able  to  use  his 
brain  much  for  a  long  time ;  but  Edward 
Morris  without  a  head  is  so  much  nicer 
than  any  other  man  with  one  that  it  does 
not  matter,  and  —  he  is  going  to  get 
well !  !  !  !  !  I  have  put  all  those  exclama- 
tion points  in  a  row  to  help  faintly  to  ex- 
press my  feelings.  They  stand  for  joy, 
rapture,  happiness,  and  every  other  bliss- 
ful thing. 

Eleanor  is  perfectly  calm,  as  usual,  but 
the  whole  expression  of  her  face  has 
changed,  and  she  looks  absolutely  seraphic. 
215 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CLUBS 

Edward  knew  her  yesterday ;  and  when 
she  came  home  I  could  see  that  something 
unusual  had  happened. 

"  It  is  all  right,  Julia,"  she  replied  to 
my  eager  questions. 

"  What  did  he  say,  dear  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  How  did  he  look  ?  What  did  you  say  ? 
Tell  me  aU  about  it." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  we  said,  but  we 
have  explained  everything." 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  just  one  little 
thing  ?  "  I  pleaded. 

Eleanor  began  to  laugh  softly.  "  He 
said  something  when  I  first  came  in  which 
will  amuse  you,  Julia.  He  asked  what 
day  it  was.  '  Saturday,'  I  replied.  4  Sat- 
urday? Eleanor,  how  good  you  were  to 
come  here  instead  of  going  to  the  Satur- 
day Morning  Club  ! ' ' 
216 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

LOUISE  HENDERSON  was  sitting  in  the 
sewing  -  room  of  her  uncle's  parsonage, 
with  her  eyes  fastened  upon  a  small  blue 
garment  in  her  lap.  There  was  a  look  of 
quiet  but  intense  happiness  in  her  face. 
This  beatific  expression  could  not  have 
been  caused  by  the  skirt  which  she  was 
mending  —  even  her  aunt,  who  was  not 
an  observing  woman,  drew  that  conclu- 
sion—  for  the  tear  was  a  large  and  irregu- 
lar one. 

"  Louise,"  she  asked,  "  whom  is  your 
letter  from  ?  " 

Louise  colored  and  handed  the  note  to 
her  aunt. 

"  It  is  from  a  young  man  I  met  at 
cousin  Susan's  —  Mr.  Matthews.  He 
used  to  know  you ;  he  is  going  to  the 
White  Mountains  some  time  soon,  and 
would  like  to  stay  over  a  train  to  see  you 
and  uncle  Henry." 

217 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

"  Used  to  know  me !  I  should  think 
so  !  Ralph  Matthews  !  and  I  suppose  he 
is  entirely  grown  up  now.  How  time 
does  fly ! " 

"  He  is  pretty  old  ;  he  is  twenty-nine." 

"  Of  course  he  is ;  he  is  nine  years 
younger  than  I  am.  I  was  seventeen 
when  I  went  to  live  at  his  father's  house 
with  mamma,  and  his  father  was  thirty- 
seven.  Who  would  have  supposed  that  a 
sensible  man  like  Hugh  Matthews  would 
have  fallen  in  love  with  a  mere  child  like 
myself  ?  It  was  my  first  love  affair." 

Louise,  who  was  eighteen,  wondered  if 
a  disposition  to  fall  in  love  with  mere 
children  ran  in  the  family ;  then,  being  a 
young  woman  of  practical  good  sense, 
she  took  herself  to  task  sharply.  "  How 
ridiculous  I  am  to  expect  anything  !  "  she 
thought.  "  Cousin  Susan  said  he  was 
something  of  a  flirt,  and  I  must  n't  —  and 
he  did  n't"  — 

"When  is  the  young  man  coming?" 
inquired  her  aunt.  "  Some  time  this  week 
or  next,"  she  added,  as  she  glanced  at 
the  note  again.  "  How  indefinite  !  So 
thoughtless  !  Men  are  all  the  same ;  they 
218 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

never  consider  washing  days  and  ironing 
days,  or  think  that  their  coming  need 
make  any  difference  ;  whereas  it  makes 
the  greatest  difference.  We  must  'kill 
the  fatted  calf  '  for  him,  not  that  he  is  a 
prodigal,  but  it  is  so  long  since  I  have 
seen  the  dear  boy  —  twenty  years  —  and 
he  is  used  to  having  everything  in  such 
style.  Supposing  he  should  drop  down 
upon  us  when  we  have  stew  for  dinner ! 
I  do  hope  the  children  will  behave  well. 
If  we  only  knew  when  he  was  coming  ! 
My  dear,  we  must  have  a  fresh  roast  or 
chickens  every  day,  and  then  whenever 
he  appears  we  shall  be  prepared  for  him. 
It  will  be  expensive,  but  we  can  econo- 
mize afterward." 

They  had  a  company  dinner  all  that 
week  and  the  next.  The  children  thought 
this  a  delightful  plan.  They  hoped  Mr. 
Matthews  would  never  come,  that  they 
might  "  dine  on  like  this  forever." 

When  two  weeks  had  passed  without 
bringing  the  expected  guest,  both  aunt 
and  niece  gave  him  up  reluctantly,  and 
went  back  to  their  former  manner  of  liv- 
ing. There  was  more  to  be  done  than 
219 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

usual,  for  they  had  put  off  giving  the  par- 
lor a  thorough  sweeping  for  a  fortnight, 
lest  he  should  arrive  while  they  were  in 
the  midst  of  it. 

On  Friday,  therefore,  the  usual  day  for 
sweeping,  they  moved  everything  out  of 
the  parlor  into  the  entry.  It  was  a  warm 
day.  The  air  came  in  through  the  hall 
door  enticingly,  bringing  with  it  the  odor 
of  newly  mown  hay.  The  haymakers 
were  at  work  in  the  meadow.  Louise, 
wholly  enveloped  in  a  blue  and  white 
checked  apron,  and  with  a  sweeping-cap 
on  her  pretty  brown  hair,  was  patiently 
dusting  all  the  irregular  corners  of  a 
carved  oak  chair.  Whenever  sweeping 
day  came  she  wished  the  family  did  not 
have  so  much  old-fashioned  furniture. 
Nora,  the  maid  of  all  work,  was  beating 
the  rugs  viciously,  as  if  she  had  some 
peculiar  spite  against  them.  The  rugs 
were  out  on  the  grass  in  front  of  the 
house.  There  was  only  a  strip  of  some 
fifty  feet  of  level  lawn  between  the  house 
and  the  street,  so  that  every  one  who 
passed  could  see  all  that  was  going  on ; 
but  it  did  not  matter,  for  they  would  have 
220 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

known  what  was  going  on,  at  any  rate ; 
they  always  did  in  East  Bradfield.   Louise 
was  still  at  work  on   the  carved  chair, 
with  her  back  to  the  street,  when  she  was 
startled  by  an  exclamation  from  Nora. 
"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  It 's  the  fatted  calf,  miss,  as  sure  as 
me  name  is  Nora  O'Connor,  a-walkin'  up 
the  street,  just  as  unconsarned  as  if  it 
warn't  Friday,  and  a  salt-fish  dinner  a- 
cookin' ! " 
"Nora!" 

"  It 's  the  city  chap,  sure  as  I  'm  born. 
Turn  round  and  see  for  yourself,  Miss 
Louise." 

Louise  looked.  She  meant  to  escape 
afterward,  but  destiny  was  stronger  than 
she.  Ralph  Matthews  was  just  turning 
in  at  the  gate,  and  met  her  confused 
glance.  He  had  a  pleasant  face,  with  a 
brown  beard,  and  humorous  brown  eyes 
which  seemed  to  take  in  everything.  His 
manner  was  so  polite  that  it  struck  her  as 
sarcastic.  His  faultless  attire  forced  her 
own  deficiencies  still  more  strongly  upon 
her,  and  made  her  shy  and  constrained. 
"  My  aunt  is  lying  down,"  she  said ;  "  I 
221 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

will  tell  her  you  are  here.  I  cannot  take 
you  into  the  parlor  for  obvious  reasons. 
My  uncle  is  writing  his  sermon  in  the 
study.  There  is  the  dining-room,"  she 
continued  meditatively,  "  but  the  chil- 
dren are  painting  there." 

"  Mayn't  I  stay  and  help  dust  the  furni- 
ture ?  "  he  inquired,  seating  himself  tran- 
quilly on  the  piano  stool. 

"  Louise,"  called  her  aunt  anxiously, 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  "  Tommy  has 
just  had  a  frightful  bump  on  his  forehead. 
Could  you  —  Why,  Mr.  Matthews  !  I 
know  it  must  be  Mr.  Matthews,  for  you 
look  so  much  like  your  poor  dear  father. 
How  do  you  do?  Louise,  take  him  into 
the  study  directly.  How  could  you  be  so 
thoughtless  as  to  let  him  stay  here  ? " 
and  she  descended  the  stairs  full  of  apolo- 
gies. 

Mrs.  Henderson  took  possession  of  her 
old  acquaintance  willy-nilly,  and  carried 
him  off  to  the  study.  "  Henry,"  she  said, 
"  here  is  a  dear  old  friend  of  mine  — 
Ralph  Matthews.  It  was  so  kind  of  him 
to  come  to  this  out-of-the-way  spot  to  see 
me  again." 

222 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

Mr.  Henderson  looked  up  from  his  ser- 
mon with  the  dazed  air  of  a  man  who  is 
in  the  full  swing  of  inspiration.  For  a 
moment  he  hovered  helplessly  between 
two  worlds,  the  next  he  descended  re- 
gretfully to  this  one.  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  old-sighted 
glasses.  He  had  charming  manners  as 
soon  as  he  had  recovered  himself  ;  their 
gentleness  was  a  distinction  in  itself,  and 
assorted  well  with  his  gray  hair  and  fine 
blue  eyes. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,"  young 
Matthews  returned  cordially. 

Mr.  Henderson  gave  one  more  regretful 
look  at  his  sermon,  the  sheets  of  which 
were  spread  about  in  confusion  on  his 
table,  together  with  a  pile  of  unanswered 
letters.  Books  were  there  too,  —  both 
opened  and  unopened ;  in  fact,  there  were 
books  in  every  available  nook  in  the  room. 
The  very  windows  seemed  an  impertinent 
interruption,  for  both  the  space  above 
and  below  them  was  utilized  by  book 
shelves. 

"  I  am  interrupting  you,"  Ralph  Mat- 
thews said.     "  Miss  Henderson  will  take 
223 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

good  care  of  me,  I  know,  until  you  are  at 
leisure." 

"  No,"  protested  Mrs.  Henderson ; 
"  you  must  stay  here  at  present,  for 
Louise  and  I  are  such  busy  people.  Mr. 
Henderson  will  work  all  the  better  after- 
ward for  a  little  rest." 

"  Louise,"  she  said,  when  she  rejoined 
her  niece,  "  it  is  quarter  past  twelve.  We 
shall  have  to  put  dinner  off  until  two 
o'clock,  and  suppress  the  salt  fish ;  it  is 
too  countrified.  You  will  have  to  run 
downtown  and  get  some  steak  or  chops. 
Chops  breaded,  with  tomato  sauce,  will 
be  the  best.  We  have  n't  a  can  of  toma- 
toes in  the  house.  If  they  can't  send  the 
things  up  directly,  you  must  bring  them  ; 
and  get  a  bottle  of  salad  oil  too ;  we  used 
the  last  on  Saturday,  when  I  was  so  sure 
Mr.  Matthews  would  come." 

Louise  slowly  divested  herself  of  her 
apron  and  sweeping-cap,  and  went  to  the 
closet  for  her  hat. 

"  Get  a  head  of  lettuce  too,"  said  her 

aunt  — "  two    heads   if   they   are   small. 

You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  make  a 

salad  dressing.     We  shall  need  two  cans 

224 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

of  tomatoes ;  we  will  have  inock  bisque 
soup.  It  is  a  mercy  one  can  always  fall 
back  upon. that  in  an  emergency." 

Louise  put  on  her  broad-brimmed  hat, 
trimmed  with  white  mull. 

"  Will  you  take  Polly  with  you  ?  "  called 
her  aunt.  "  She  is  so  fretful,  and  she  will 
be  company  for  you,  and  I  have  my  hands 
full  with  Tommy  ;  poor  boy,  I  had  for- 
gotten all  about  his  bump." 

Little  f  our  -  year  -  old  Polly  clung  de- 
lightedly to  her  cousin's  hand,  and  the 
two  stepped  out  into  the  fragrant  sun- 
shine. Visions  of  another  companion,  and 
a  walk  in  the  woods  beyond  the  meadows, 
had  been  hovering  vaguely  in  Louise's 
mind,  but  she  resigned  herself  cheerfully 
to  the  inevitable,  as  was  her  habit.  Polly 
walked  slowly,  and  the  way  was  long. 
She  wanted  a  "drink  of  water"  so  per- 
sistently that  they  stopped  at  last  at  a 
neighbor's  to  get  it.  Then  she  wanted 
another,  because  that  other  "  drink  of 
water"  was  so  good  that  it  made  her 
more  thirsty. 

When  they  started  to  go  home  she  was 
made  proud  and  happy  by  being  allowed 
225 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

to  carry  one  of  the  cans  of  tomatoes. 
She  dropped  it  only  three  times  on  the 
way  back.  They  met  several  of  the  neigh- 
bors, who  all  knew  that  Mr.  Matthews  had 
arrived,  and  sympathized  with  Louise. 

"  To  think  that  he  should  have  come  on 
a  Friday  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Osgood.  "  I 
will  send  you  over  some  of  my  orange 
cake  ;  I  made  it  yesterday ;  and  we  have 
plenty  of  cream,  if  your  aunt  would  like 
some." 

Mrs.  Trumbull  offered  to  exchange  her 
roast  of  beef  for  the  salt  fish. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Louise,  "  but 
I  have  some  chops  here  in  this  bundle,  and 
there  is  time  to  cook  them." 

Louise  was  so  heated  by  her  walk  that 
a  cool  seat  in  the  china  closet,  with  the 
salad  dressing  for  a  companion,  was  lux- 
ury in  comparison. 

Johnny  came  presently  and  looked  in 
at  the  window.  He  had  been  hindering 
the  men  in  the  hayfield  all  the  morning, 
under  the  impression  that  he  was  helping 
them.  "  Hullo !  "  he  cried ;  "  what  are  you 
doing?" 

"  Making  a  salad  dressing." 
226 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

"What  for?" 

"  Because  Mr.  Matthews  is  going  to  be 
here  to  dinner." 

"TheF.  C.?" 

"  Don't  call  names,  Johnny." 

"I  suppose  you  aren't  going  to  have 
salt  fish  for  dinner  ?  " 

"No." 

"  How  bully  !     Wish  he  'd  come  every 

Friday." 
"  I  don't." 

"  I  say,  cousin  Louise,"  Johnny  asked 
persuasively,  "  could  you  mend  a  fellow's 
jacket  ?     I  tore  it  on  the  hay  cart." 
"  I  can't  possibly  mend  it." 
"  But  it's  mostly  all  hole.     I  'm  afraid 
the  F.  C.  would  n't  approve  of  it." 
"  Put  on  your  other  jacket,  then." 
"  You  forget,  cousin  Louise,  the  other 
one  has  gone  up  the  spout." 

"Go  to  bed,  then,"  she  said  desper- 
ately. 

"But,  cousin  Louise,  I  want  to  see 
the  F.  C.  Please,  please  do  mend  my 
jacket." 

"  I  will,  if  I  have  time,  Johnny,"  his 
cousin  returned  patiently.     She  had  time  ; 
227 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

she  always  did  have  time  for  everything, 
and  as  a  reward  she  was  given  more  and 
more  of  the  work  of  the  household.  She 
did  not  mind  generally,  for  she  was  young 
and  strong  and  very  fond  of  the  children, 
who  thought  her  a  "trump,"  only  she 
had  wistfully  hoped  that  she  might  have 
a  holiday  when  Ralph  Matthews  came  to 
East  Bradfield.  However,  it  did  not  mat- 
ter, she  said  to  herself,  as  he  had  evidently 
come  to  see  her  uncle  and  aunt.  She  re- 
peated this  phrase  over  and  over  to  her- 
self throughout  dinner.  He  was  placed 
at  her  aunt's  right  hand,  and  she  was  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 

The  children  were  very  good  through- 
out the  first  course.  They  were  awed  by 
the  presence  of  the  stranger,  who,  how- 
ever, talked  so  charmingly  that  by  the 
second  course  they  found  there  was  no- 
thing awe-inspiring  in  him,  after  all. 
Consequently  they  grew  confidential. 

"  We  don't  have  chops  and  tomato 
sauce  every  Friday,"  Grace  remarked 
sweetly. 

"  Grace,  you  must  n't  say  such  things," 
said  her  sister  Susie  in  a  loud  whisper. 
228 


THE  FATTED   CALF 

"  We  're  going  to  have  salad  presently," 
Johnny  added.  "  I  'm  real  glad  you  came," 
he  continued  sociably.  "  I  asked  cousin 
Louise  if  she  did  n't  wish  you  'd  come 
every  Friday,  and  she  said  'no.'" 

"Johnny,"  said  his  mother,  in  horri- 
fied accents,  "  you  must  not  tell  such  sto- 
ries." 

"  But  it  is  n't  a  story ;  it 's  true.  Ask 
cousin  Louise.  I  suppose  it's  because 
she  had  so  much  trouble  making  the  salad 
dressing." 

Poor  Louise  was  the  color  of  a  peony. 
She  was  too  disturbed  to  laugh,  and  could 
not  even  speak ;  her  tongue  seemed  to 
cleave  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth.  There 
was  an  awful  pause  for  a  moment. 

Mr.  Matthews  broke  it  at  last.  "  You 
were  speaking  of  the  village  mir  in  Rus- 
sia," he  observed,  turning  to  his  host ;  "  it 
is  curious  the  way  in  which  that  relic  of 
the  Middle  Ages  has  survived  all  these 
years." 

"  How  clever  he  is  !  "  thought  Louise, 

who  had  never  heard  of  the  village  mir  in 

Russia ;  "  and  how  eloquent  and  eager  he 

has  made  my  uncle !     He  has  the  power 

229 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

of  drawing  every  one  out.  I  was  a  fool 
to  fancy  he  liked  me  particularly.  He 
could  never  care  for  such  an  ignoramus, 
and  it  is  just  as  well  that  he  should  see 
me  in  my  true  colors  now." 

Louise's  aunt  sat  erect  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  serene  in  the  consciousness  that 
her  dinner  was  most  appetizing.  It  was 
unfortunate  that  the  children  should  have 
made  those  malapropos  remarks ;  but  at 
least  Mr.  Matthews  would  see  that  if  they 
did  not  have  such  dainty  meals  every  day, 
they  knew  how  things  should  be  done. 
The  bisque  soup  was  delicious,  the  chops 
cooked  to  a  turn,  and  the  salad  a  dream 
of  delight.  There  was  a  long  pause 
after  this  course,  during  which  Mrs.  Hen- 
derson nervously  wondered  what  had  hap- 
pened to  Mrs.  Osgood's  orange  cake,  and 
whether  Nora  was  waiting  to  pick  the 
raspberries. 

At  last  the  recreant  maid  appeared, 
bearing  a  huge  pie,  which  she  placed 
solemnly  before  her  mistress,  who  looked 
at  it  in  speechless  wonder.  Where  did  it 
come  from,  and  what  were  its  contents  ? 
Could  anything  show  greater  vulgarity  of 
230 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

breeding  than  this  unexpected  but  all  too 
substantial  apparition?  Before  she  had 
recovered  from  her  surprise,  Nora  placed 
a  large  ham  in  front  of  Mr.  Henderson. 
It  was  all  clear  to  poor  Mrs.  Henderson 
now.  The  neighbors,  in  the  kindness  of 
their  hearts,  had  sent  over  these  supple- 
ments to  the  feast,  and  Nora,  knowing 
that  her  mistress  was  ambitious  to  have 
many  courses,  had  brought  them  in  on  her 
own  responsibility. 

Mrs.  Henderson,  who  never  was  able 
to  turn  things  off  with  a  joke,  asked  her 
guest  if  he  would  have  some  meat  pie, 
with  the  feelings  of  a  criminal  at  the 
stake. 

"  It 's  veal  pie,"  cried  Tommy.  "  We  've 
killed  the  fatted  calf  sure  this  time." 

To  add  to  her  confusion,  her  husband 
glanced  across  at  her,  and  said,  "  Did  you 
mean  to  have  this  ham  cut,  Mary  ?  " 

After  they  had  partaken  of  the  rasp- 
berries and  coffee,  Mrs.  Henderson  was 
about  to  rise  from  the  table,  when  Nora 
came  to  her  with  a  warning  shake  of  the 
head. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  said  in  a  loud  whisper ; 
231 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

"  there 's  two  more  courses  a-settin'  in  the 
pantry." 

"Oh,  golly!  Let's  have  'em  both," 
cried  Johnny. 

Mrs.  Henderson  ignored  the  observa- 
tions of  her  maid  and  her  son.  She  drew 
her  small  figure  up  to  its  full  height,  and 
looked  almost  majestic. 

"  I  think  perhaps  we  shall  find  it  plea- 
santer  in  the  other  room,"  she  said,  with 
all  the  grace  and  dignity  at  her  com- 
mand. 

"  It  is  four  o'clock,"  said  her  husband, 
taking  out  his  watch.  "  How  the  after- 
noon has  gone ! " 

"  Only  an  hour  and  a  half  before  Mr. 
Matthews's  train  leaves,"  thought  Louise. 

The  Hendersons'  parlor,  to  which  they 
adjourned,  was  a  quaint  room,  with  the 
atmosphere  of  a  former  generation  lin- 
gering about  its  carved  chairs  and  claw- 
footed  tables.  The  green  carpet,  with  its 
huge  bunches  of  gay  flowers,  had  been 
somewhat  softened  by  Persian  rugs,  but 
the  stiff  portraits  which  looked  down  on 
one  from  the  walls,  and  the  square  six- 
octaved  piano  remained  uncompromis- 
232 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

ingly  old  fashioned.  There  were  vases 
and  bowls  of  roses  on  the  tables  and 
piano,  and  a  general  fragrance  as  if  the 
room  were  a  rose  garden. 

Louise  ensconced  herself  on  the  sofa 
behind  a  table,  with  a  child  on  either  side 
of  her,  and,  having  fortified  herself  in  this 
impregnable  position,  she  wondered  that 
Ralph  Matthews  did  not  come  and  talk  to 
her. 

"  Louise,"  said  her  aunt  at  last,  "  I  wish 
you  would  sing  something." 

"  Yes,"  assented  her  uncle  ;  "  '  Duke 
Street,'  or  '  Come,  ye  disconsolate.'  " 

"  Oh,  not  hymn  tunes  on  a  week  day, 
uncle  Henry ;  I  should  feel  positively 
sacrilegious." 

As  Louise  struck  the  first  chords  of 
"Ye  banks  and  braes  of  Bonny  Doon," 
she  nervously  realized  how  much  the 
piano  was  out  of  tune,  and  the  thin,  poor 
quality  of  the  notes.  In  the  presence  of 
this  stranger,  who  lived  on  terms  of  inti- 
macy with  grand  pianos,  her  much-loved 
instrument  shrank  into  insignificance. 

She  did  not  know  how  charming  she 
looked  in  her  lilac  gown,  with  the  huge 
233 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

bowl  of  white  roses  at  her  right,  and  the 
light  from  the  window  at  her  left  faintly 
struggling  through  the  half-closed  blinds. 
Everything  was  complete  about  Louise, 
from  her  pretty  head,  with  its  smooth 
brown  hair,  to  her  trim  little  figure  in  the 
simple  but  scrupulously  neat  dress.  There 
were  many  girls  far  more  beautiful  than 
she,  but  of  her  kind  she  was  perfect,  and 
one  no  more  thought  of  finding  fault  with 
her  lack  of  color,  or  with  the  shape  of 
her  mouth,  than  of  quarreling  with  the 
violet  for  being  of  a  different  color  and 
shape  from  the  rose.  One  might  prefer 
roses,  but  that  was  a  different  matter. 

"Now  surely,  surely  he  will  come  to 
the  piano  and  turn  my  music  for  me,"  she 
thought. 

At  this  moment  a  stout  person  of  forty 
or  thereabouts,  dressed  in  an  attempt  at  a 
tea  gown  of  variegated  colors,  and  adorned 
with  scarlet  bows,  came  into  the  room, 
bristling  with  self-importance.  She  was 
introduced  to  Mr.  Matthews  as  Miss 
Wiley. 

"  I  have  come  to  play  some  duets  with 
you,  Louise  love,  as  soon  as  I  can  recover 
234 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

my  breath,"  she  announced.  She  seated 
herself  in  a  rocking-chair,  and  rocked 
back  and  forth  vigorously,  plying  a  fan 
with  energy. 

"Miss  Wiley  is  the  organist  at  our 
church,"  Mr.  Henderson  explained  to  his 
guest. 

"  Are  you  a  musician,  Mr.  Matthews  ?  " 
she  inquired.  "  If  so,  I  know  you  will 
find  these  duets  very  enjoyable.  I  am 
trying  to  inspire  my  dear  Louise  with  a 
love  for  Wagner  "  (she  gave  the  composer 
the  full  benefit  of  his  W^).  "  If  you  was 
with  her  long  enough,  you  would  find  she 
has  not  yet  a  feelin'  sense  of  the  scope, 
aim,  and  rhythmic  beauty  of  that  '  great 
master  of  the  music  of  the  future.'  She 
came  back  from  New  York  quite  fatigued 
by  him." 

Poor  Louise  !  Mr.  Matthews  had  taken 
her  and  her  cousin  to  hear  Rheingold,  and 
although  she  had  not  cared  for  the  music, 
she  had  never  in  all  her  life  passed  four 
happier  hours.  Would  he  think  she  had 
been  bored  all  that  time  ?  She  looked  at 
him  furtively,  but  he  had  turned  to  speak 
to  her  aunt,  and  did  not  see  her  wistful 
235 


glance.  It  was  hard  to  have  to  spend  her 
holiday  afternoon  in  playing  duets  with 
Miss  Wiley,  whom  she  could  barely  toler- 
ate at  the  best  of  times,  and  who  seemed 
bent  upon  proving  her  intimacy  in  the 
household,  calling  her  "  dear  Louise,"  and 
"  my  sweet  friend,"  as  if  they  were  of  the 
same  age,  and  had  been  playmates  from 
infancy.  Miss  Wiley  always  drowned 
Louise's  treble  with  her  bass,  but  on  this 
particular  afternoon  she  played  louder 
than  ever  before,  as  if  to  impress  the  Hen- 
dersons' guest  with  a  sense  of  her  musical 
prowess. 

At  length  Louise  heard  her  uncle  say 
in  a  low  tone,  "Matthews,  if  the  ladies 
will  excuse  us,  perhaps  you  would  like  to 
take  that  walk  I  told  you  of,  across  the 
meadows  to  the  woods  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Louise  "  —  she  could 
only  distinguish  these  words  in  her 
friend's  reply,  but  they  made  her  heart 
beat  quicker. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  her  uncle,  glancing 
toward  the  piano ;  "  she  has  taken  the 
walk  so  many  times,  and  it  is  such  a  hot 
day." 

236 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

Then  Louise  took  a  bold  step.  She  left 
her  companion  precipitately  in  the  middle 
of  a  duet,  and  said  hurriedly  :  "  I  should 
like  very  much  to  go  to  the  woods  with 
you,  uncle  Henry,  if  Miss  Wiley  will  ex- 
cuse me.  I  want  to  get  some  ferns  and 
see  the  sorrel,  if  it  is  out." 

"  Dear  child,  we  can  get  the  ferns  and 
sorrel  for  you,"  said  her  uncle.  "  Do  not 
think  it  necessary  to  take  that  long,  hot 
walk  just  for  that." 

"I  should  like  to  go,"  she  repeated. 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Wiley  will  riome  too," 
said  her  hospitable  uncle.  By  an  unusual 
stroke  of  luck,  however,  the  cool  parlor 
proved  a  more  alluring  place  to  the  organ- 
ist, who  preferred  to  stay  behind  with 
Mrs.  Henderson. 

As  they  were  all  three  going  out  of  the 
gate,  Grace  and  Susie  came  tearing  after 
them,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  too. 
Their  father  gave  each  of  them  a  hand, 
for  which  Louise  blessed  him,  and  she 
walked  on  ahead  with  Mr.  Matthews. 

Now  that  the  moment  had  actually  come 
for  which  she  had  longed  all  day,  an  ac- 
cess of  shyness  seized  her  which  made  it 
237 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

impossible  to   frame   sentences   of   more 
than  six  words. 

"  What  a  charming  man  your  uncle 
is  !  "  Ralph  Matthews  began. 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  And  this  town  is  such  a  delightfully 
quaint,  primitive  place." 

In  her  present  sensitive  state  of  mind 
these  words  jarred  on  her. 

"  Primitive !  How  unkind  of  him !  " 
she  thought.  "  He  thinks  us  primitive 
because  we  had  veal  pie  and  ham  after 
lettuce.  We  are  primitive  because  we 
have  a  six-octaved  piano,  and  an  organist 
who  cannot  speak  the  English  language 
correctly.  My  uncle  is  'primitive,'  my 
aunt  is  '  primitive,'  and  I  —  I  am  '  primi- 
tive.' '  She  could  scarcely  keep  back  the 
tears.  "  It  is  a  pretty  place,"  she  returned 
coldly. 

"  Miss  Louise,"  he  began  abruptly, 
"  have  I  offended  you  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  You  are  not  as  kind  to  me  as  you  used 
to  be.  Is  there  a  reason  for  it  ?  " 

"  I   am   kind   enough,"    said    Louise ; 
"  but  it  is  such  a  hot  day." 
238 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

She  was  as  amazed  to  hear  these  words 
as  if  they  had  been  uttered  by  another 
person.  They  had  crossed  the  road  by 
this  time,  and  were  going  into  the  fields 
behind  the  Osgoods'  house.  At  this  mo- 
ment Lilian  Osgood  came  out  sociably 
to  meet  them.  She  was  charmingly 
pretty,  by  far  the  prettiest  girl  in  East 
Bradfield. 

To-day  she  wore  a  most  becoming  white 
gown.  Her  yellow  hair  rippled  about  her 
face,  and  her  pink  cheeks  had  the  bloom 
of  a  peach.  Louise  thought  she  looked 
like  a  tall  white  lily.  She  caught  an 
involuntary  expression  of  admiration  on 
Ralph  Matthews's  face. 

"  It  is  all  over  with  me,"  she  thought. 

Of  course  Lilian  would  go  to  walk 
with  them ;  there  was  nothing  she  would 
like  better.  She  spread  her  red  sunshade, 
which  made  her  more  picturesque  than 
ever,  and  in  another  moment  Louise  found 
herself  with  her  uncle  and  the  children, 
while  Lilian  and  Ralph  walked  off  to- 
gether across  the  fields,  a  bright  patch  of 
red  and  white  and  a  dark  patch  of  black 
against  the  newly  mown  grass.  Lilian 
239 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

chatted  on  merrily,  and  she  could  hear 
Ralph  laugh  from  time  to  time. 

"  How  much  he  likes  her !  "  she  thought. 
Before  they  had  reached  the  first  stone 
wall  she  had  pictured  the  engagement  of 
these  two,  that  she  might  be  prepared  for 
anything,  and  fortify  herself  in  time ; 
when  they  entered  the  woods  she  had  got 
as  far  as  the  wedding ;  and  by  the  time 
they  had  come  to  the  brook  she  had  decided 
that  she  would  be  bridemaid  if  Lilian 
asked  her,  and  hold  her  head  so  straight 
and  stiff  that  no  one  would  ever  ima- 
gine —  What  ?  Nonsense  !  She  did  not 
care  for  Ralph  Matthews.  She  did  not 
like  his  luxurious  life  ;  its  forms  and  cere- 
monies frightened  her.  She  was  hope- 
lessly plebeian,  provincial,  primitive. 

The  slender,  white-stemmed  birches, 
with  their  pale-green  leaves,  drooped  over 
the  brook,  and  the  solemn  pines  and  hem- 
locks represented  the  other  extreme  in  the 
scale  of  color.  There  was  every  possible 
gradation  of  green  between  the  two.  The 
brook  hurried  on  over  the  impeding  stones, 
breaking  into  a  golden  brown  in  the  sun- 
light, and  changing  to  a  deeper  brown  in 
240 


THE   FATTED  CALF 

the  shadow,  and  Louise,  who  was  usually 
keenly  alive  to  all  these  things,  saw  none 
of  them  now.  Her  eyes  were  fastened  on 
a  man  with  laughing  brown  eyes,  who  was 
talking  in  an  animated  manner  to  a  fasci- 
nating girl. 

Lilian  had  closed  her  sunshade,  and  the 
light  sifted  through  the  trees  and  shone  on 
her  yellow  hair.  It  had  evidently  caught 
on  some  envious  branch,  for  it  was  all  in 
a  pretty  fluff,  and  several  charming  little 
curls  had  escaped  their  bounds.  She  was 
standing  helplessly  before  the  log  which 
formed  a  bridge  across  the  brook,  with 
one  foot  in  its  dainty  red  shoe  placed  on 
the  edge,  while  Ralph,  with  an  air  of  devo- 
tion, was  holding  out  his  hand  and  urging 
her  to  let  him  help  her. 

"  How  absurd ! "  thought  Louise  sharply. 
"  She  has  a  perfectly  steady  head.  She 
is  no  more  afraid  of  that  log  than  I  am." 

When  it  came  her  own  turn  to  cross, 
Ralph  was  waiting  to  proffer  his  services. 

"  May  I  help  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  returned  with 
dignity ;  "I  can  get  on  by  myself  per- 
fectly well." 

241 


THE  FATTED   CALF 

So  could  Grace  and  Susie.  They 
preferred  to  go  over  "all  by  their  own 
selves." 

Louise  had  waited  to  urge  them  to  let 
her  carry  them  across,  for  their  father  had 
stopped  to  speak  to  the  haymakers.  Lilian 
and  Ralph  were  by  this  time  lost  to  view 
in  the  tangle  of  underbrush.  She  walked 
on  slowly,  absorbed  in  her  meditations. 
Suddenly  she  heard  a  splash,  and  turned 
to  see  Susie  sitting  in  the  middle,  of  the 
brook  with  frightened  eyes. 

"  Cousin  Louise,"  she  cried,  "  I  'm  most 
dead.  Take  me  out ;  but  the,  log  was  so 
slippery" 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
get  Susie  home  as  quickly  as  possible. 

While  Louise  was  changing  her  cousin's 
wet  garments  her  reflections  were  most 
bitter.  She  had  never  known  before  how 
much  wretchedness  a  commonplace  day 
could  hold  within  the  limits  of  its  brief 
hours.  While  she  was  still  occupied  with 
her  little  cousin,  she  heard  Ralph  Mat- 
thews's  voice.  He  was  saying  civil  things 
to  her  uncle  and  aunt.  It  was  almost 
time  for  his  train  to  go. 
242 


THE  FATTED   CALF 

"  Louise,"  called  Mrs.  Henderson, 
"  can't  you  come  down  and  bid  our  friend 
good-by?" 

Susie  was  shivering,  and  Louise  did  not 
dare  to  leave  her.  She  put  her  into  her 
dress  with  nervous  haste ;  her  fingers  trem- 
bled with  excitement.  She  must  see  him 
before  he  went. 

"  In  one  moment,  aunt  Mary,"  she 
replied,  but  when  that  moment  came  he 
was  gone.  She  was  just  in  time  to  see 
him  whisked  out  of  sight  in  a  basket 
phaeton,  with  Lilian  Osgood  by  his  side, 
driving  her  white  pony  with  her  accus- 
tomed grace.  He  was  holding  the  red 
sunshade  over  her,  and  bending  toward 
her,  to  say  something  which  made  her 
laugh. 

That  night  Louise  watched  the  sun  set 
in  a  pink  mist  of  clouds.  The  haycocks 
were  all  covered  with  their  white  night- 
caps, the  men  were  returning  from  their 
work.  Some  oxen  and  a  load  of  hay 
passed  slowly  along  the  road.  It  was 
very  peaceful  and  rural,  "  primitive,"  she 
thought  —  "  primitive."  She  had  a  dull 
sense  that  the  sun  would  continue  to  rise 
243 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

and  shine  and  go  down  011  this  same  tran- 
quil scene  for  many  long  days  in  many 
long  years  for  her. 

To  be  miserable  was  a  new  feeling  for 
Louise.  She  had  one  ray  of  hope.  Per- 
haps, after  all,  she  was  mistaken,  and 
Ralph  did  care  for  her.  Possibly  in  those 
hours  that  he  had  spent  with  her  uncle  he 
had  said  something  about  his  feeling  for 
her. 

"  What  did  you  and  Mr.  Matthews  talk 
about,  uncle  Henry  ?  "  she  asked  shyly. 

"  Politics ;  he  is  on  the  right  side.  An 
excellent  young  man,  with  the  best  of  prin- 
ciples. I  have  only  one  fault  to  find  with 
him,  and  that  is,  he  smokes.  To  be  sure, 
he  is  on  the  wrong  side  with  regard  to  the 
Prohibition  Amendment,  but  he  seems  as 
anxious  to  stop  the  increase  of  intemper- 
ance as  I  am.  We  are  all  traveling  on 
different  roads,  Louise,  but  we  bring  up 
at  the  same  place  at  last." 

"  You  dear  thing,"  cried  Louise,  fling- 
ing her  arms  about  his  neck,  "  I  wonder 
if  you  half  realize  how  nice  you  are !  a 
great  deal  nicer  than  any  other  man  that 
I  know." 

244 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

Her  uncle  gave  her  a  pleased,  bewil- 
dered glance.  He  could  not  see  the  con- 
nection between  his  speech  and  its  effect. 

"  Tea  is  ready,"  said  her  aunt,  coming 
to  the  door.  "  It  is  literally  tea  to-night, 
—  tea  and  crackers.  I  knew  you  would 
not  be  hungry,  and  we  shall  have  to  econ- 
omize on  our  teas,  and  devote  ourselves  to 
eating  up  the  remnants  at  dinner-time. 
They  will  last  a  week  at  least.  That  stu- 
pid Nora !  However,  the  day  went  off  very 
well ;  the  dinner  was  not  all  that  I  could 
wish  "  — 

"  Or  rather  it  was  a  little  more  than  you 
could  wish,"  put  in  Louise. 

"  And  it  did  seem  as  if  Christine  Wiley 
brought  out  every  bit  of  discord  there  was 
in  our  old  piano  ;  but  the  end  of  the  after- 
noon made  up  for  everything,  for  Ralph 
seems  to  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
Lilian.  I  hope  something  will  come  of  it. 
Nothing  could  be  more  suitable.  They  are 
both  young,  rich,  and  handsome,  and  she 
has  always  disliked  East  Bradfield.  She 
is  going  to  the  mountains  next  week ;  per- 
haps they  will  meet  there.  Yes,  on  the 
whole,  the  day  has  been  a  success,  al- 
245 


THE  FATTED  CALF 

though  of  course  it  would  have  been  more 
gratifying  if  Ralph  had  not  seen  so  obvi- 
ously that  we  had  '  killed  the  fatted  calf ' 
for  him.  I  hope  you  are  not  as  tired  as  I 
am,  dear  child,  and  that  you  have  had  a 
happy  day." 

Two  evenings  later,  as  Louise  was 
again  watching  the  sun  go  down,  with  the 
same  sense  of  exasperation  at  its  methodi- 
cal clinging  to  its  old  ways  when  her 
world  was  so  changed,  Johnny  brought 
her  a  letter. 

"It  is  from  Ralph  Matthews,"  she 
thought.  "  He  has  had  the  grace  to 
write  and  let  us  know  of  his  safe  ar- 
rival." 

She  tore  open  the  envelope  and  hastily 
examined  the  contents.  She  read  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  HENDERSON,  —  If 
you  purposely  avoided  me  at  every  turn 
yesterday  ;  if  you  knew,  as  how  could  you 
help  knowing,  why  I  came  to  East  Brad- 
field,  and  would  not  give  me  a  chance  to 
say  what  I  was  burning  to  say,  you  need 
not  answer  this  letter.  If,  on  the  con- 
246 


THE  FATTED   CALF 

trary,  as  I  am  bold  enough  at  times  to 
think,  your  coldness  and  seeming-  indiffer- 
ence were  the  result  of  circumstances,  I 
will  come  again,  and  say  it  all,  on  my  way 
back.  But  I  will  not  come,  Louise,  unless 
I  can  come  as  your  acknowledged  lover. 
I  will  not  be  balked  again  at  every  turn  by 
children,  old  maids,  kind  matrons,  delight- 
ful elderly  gentlemen,  and  pretty,  flirta- 
tious girls  ;  I  will  not  come  unless  "  — 

The  rest  of  the  letter  brought  a  vivid 
blush  to  Louise's  cheeks,  and  made  her 
laugh  and  cry  at  once. 

She  sat  up  far  into  the  night,  composing 
a  reply.  It  was  six  pages  long.  Then 
she  tore  it  up,  and  began  again ;  there  was 
no  need  of  expressing  her  whole  heart  in 
this  ardent  fashion.  She  wrote  a  shorter 
letter  that  pleased  her  no  better,  and  then 
a  still  shorter  one,  and  when  she  had 
finally  struck  out  all  that  was  unnecessary 
from  her  answer,  only  these  four  words 
were  left :  — 

"  You  may  come.  LOUISE." 

247 


TWO  AUTHORS 

Miss  RUTH  PENNELL  stood  before  the 
looking-glass  that  hung  above  her  mahog- 
any bureau,  tying  on  her  black  straw  bon- 
net. It  had  seen  five  summers'  wear  ;  but 
as  Miss  Pennell  glanced  at  the  gray  hair 
it  sheltered,  she  reflected,  with  a  smile,  that 
five  years  is  not  so  great  an  age  for  a 
bonnet  as  is  sixty-five  for  a  woman.  The 
mirror,  in  a  frame  of  twisted  gilt  columns, 
with  a  life-size  bunch  of  grapes  across  the 
top,  was  very  old  indeed,  even  for  a  mir- 
ror, and  Miss  Pennell  envied  it  the  power 
of  keeping  its  good  looks.  She  thought 
it  a  little  unkind  that  when  the  lustre  of 
the  glass  was  as  undimmed  as  in  a  former 
century,  it  should  reflect  so  relentlessly 
the  changes  that  time  had  brought  its 
owner. 

"  How  much  I  am  growing  to  look  like 
mother ! "  Miss  Ruth  said,  as  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  her  profile ;  then  she  remem- 
248 


TWO  AUTHORS 

bered  with  something  of  a  shock  that  she 
was  nearly  seventeen  years  older  than  her 
mother  had  been  when  she  died.  To  be 
almost  old  enough  to  be  one's  own  mo- 
ther's mother  is  a  little  confusing ;  not 
that  Miss  Pennell  objected  to  growing 
old,  and  indeed  sixty-five  seems  almost 
like  youth  when  compared  with  eighty- 
five,  or  even  seventy-five  ;  everything  de- 
pends upon  the  point  of  view.  To-day, 
however,  Miss  Ruth  found  it  in  her  heart 
to  wish  for  once  that  she  and  her  bonnet 
were  a  little  younger,  for  she  had  in  pro- 
spect a  two  miles'  walk  to  the  village, 
whither  she  had  been  summoned  to  an 
afternoon  tea  given  in  honor  of  George 
Armitage,  the  author.  Once  she  had 
hoped  to  be  a  great  author  herself,  but 
that  was  long  ago,  when  the  mirror  had 
been  kinder  to  her  than  it  was  now,  but 
life  had  been  harder. 

"  After  all,  there  are  compensations  in 
outgrowing  one's  illusions,"  she  thought. 
"  For  if  life  is  not  such  a  triumphal  pro- 
gress as  we  fancy  it  will  be  when  we  are 
young,  it  is  far  broader  and  sweeter." 

One  of  the  things  that  made  it  so  satis- 
249 


TWO  AUTHORS 

fying  was  the  fact  that  across  the  continent 
a  family  of  children  were  growing  up 
who  called  her  "  aunt  Ruth,"  incredible 
thought !  It  seemed  so  short  a  time  since 
she  was  "  Ruth  "  to  every  one,  and  other 
people,  grave,  dignified,  elderly  ladies  in 
white  caps,  were  "aunt"  to  her.  At  this 
point  in  her  reflections  she  opened  the 
upper  drawer  in  her  bureau  and  took 
out  a  pair  of  gray  undressed  kid  gloves. 
They  were  a  present  that  she  had  received 
on  her  last  birthday,  from  her  niece  .Ruth, 
and  had  come  all  the  way  from  Illinois. 
She  stroked  them  lovingly,  for  she  was 
very  fond  of  this  niece,  but  she  felt  a  lit- 
tle ashamed  that  she  should  take  so  much 
pleasure  in  the  fact  that  they  had  five 
buttons. 

"  I  believe  I  shall  never  grow  old  prop- 
erly," she  said.  "  I  am  afraid  I  am  still 
a  child  at  heart." 

Miss  Ruth  slipped  the  gloves  into  her 
pocket  to  be  worn  later  when  she  should 
reach  the  tea,  and  thriftily  put  on  a  pair 
of  gray  cotton  ones.  She  locked  the  door 
and  hid  the  key  under  the  door-mat,  that 
Harriet,  her  rosy-cheeked  little  maid-of- 
250 


TWO  AUTHORS 

all-work,  might  find  it  there  when  she 
came  home  from  school.  She  then  started 
on  her  dusty  walk  to  the  village,  holding 
up  her  gown  carefully  and  thinking  no 
more  of  the  trials  of  the  way,  but  turning 
her  attention  to  the  glories  of  the  autumn 
foliage.  She  looked  across  the  narrow 
green  valley  to  the  mountains  which 
hemmed  it  in  on  either  side,  now  all 
ablaze  with  glowing  reds  and  yellows, 
against  a  background  of  dark  green  pines 
and  hemlocks,  and  as  she  drew  in  a  long 
breath  of  the  bracing  air  she  felt  a  keen 
delight  in  mere  existence.  It  would  have 
been  joy  enough  simply  to  take  a  walk  to 
the  village  on  such  an  afternoon,  but  when 
she  added  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  au- 
thor of  "  A  New  Hampshire  Hillside,"  her 
cup  of  happiness  was  almost  too  full.  She 
thought  of  her  two  little  stories,  and  the 
few  verses  that  had  been  published  in  a 
country  newspaper  long  ago,  and  of  her 
later  poems  that  had  been  passed  about  in 
manuscript  from  neighbor  to  neighbor. 
If  the  composing  of  her  simple  verses  had 
brought  her  so  close  to  nature  that  the 
mere  act  of  living  became  a  daily  joy, 
251 


TWO  AUTHORS 

what  would  it  be  to  have  such  keen  sym- 
pathy with  both  nature  and  human  nature 
as  to  be  able  to  move  thousands  to  tears 
and  laughter? 

She  passed  tidy  white  farmhouses  with 
a  golden  wealth  of  pumpkins  in  the  side 
yards,  and  strings  of  dried  apples  hanging 
in  graceful  festoons  from  the  piazzas,  and 
other  farms  over  which  she  was  obliged  to 
shake  her  head  in  sorrowful  disapproval, 
where  the  farmer's  wife  was  "  slack,"  and 
the  apples  were  left  in  a  disorderly  heap. 
At  last  she  reached  the  village  and  passed 
the  brown  church  with  the  picturesque 
belfry,  and  the  large  summer  hotel  be- 
yond it  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
Another  half  mile  brought  her  to  the 
pleasant  yellow  house  on  the  hill  where 
George  Armitage  was  entertained.  She 
felt  a  little  like  a  shy  child,  when  she 
saw  three  grand  carriages  at  the  door 
that  must  have  come  all  the  way  from  the 
summer  hotels  at  Jackson,  for  the  inmates 
of  the  yellow  house  were  city  people,  who 
belonged  to  Miss  Ruth's  world  merely  for 
three  months  in  the  year.  She  was  trou- 
bled only  for  a  moment,  however. 
252 


TWO  AUTHORS 

"  Mrs.  Warren  would  n't  have  asked 
me  if  she  had  n't  wanted  me  to  come,"  was 
her  cheerful  reflection,  as  she  stepped  into 
the  square  hall,  with  its  polished  oak  floor 
and  the  large  fireplace  where  a  bright  fire 
was  blazing.  The  parlor  was  already  full 
of  guests  who  had  come  from  far  and  near 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  great  author.  Miss 
Ruth  stood  in  the  doorway,  letting  her  eyes 
wander  from  one  face  to  another  in  the 
vain  attempt  to  find  a  countenance  that 
promised  remarkable  things.  She  had 
just  made  up  her  mind  that  the  distin- 
guished visitor  had  not  arrived  when  her 
attention  was  caught  by  a  cluster  of  ladies 
who  had  crowded  around  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  young  man.  Could  it  be  that 
this  strong,  athletic  fellow,  who  seemed  a 
mere  boy  in  her  eyes,  was  George  Armi- 
tage  ?  He  was  no  more  impressive  than 
her  nephew  Tom.  Indeed,  he  reminded 
her  strongly  of  that  dear  but  most  unhe- 
roic  individual.  He  had  the  same  dark 
eyes  and  hair,  and  when  he  smiled  his 
face  lighted  up  in  the  same  pleasant 
fashion. 

At  this  point  her  hostess,  resplendent 
253 


TWO  AUTHORS 

in  black  satin  and  jet,  came  forward  to 
meet  her. 

"  Dear  Miss  Pennell,  how  good  of  you 
to  come  all  this  way,"  she  said  cordially. 
"  I  want  to  present  you  to  Mr.  Armitage, 
for  I  know  how  much  you  like  his  book." 

Miss  Pennell  shrank  back  as  she 
glanced  at  the  group  of  graceful  girls 
in  their  pale  pink  and  blue  and  white 
gowns. 

"  Don't  introduce  me,  please,"  she  said 
timidly.  "  He  won't  care  to  talk  to  an  old 
woman  like  me  when  there  are  so  many 
pretty  young  ladies  here." 

The  attention  of  the  hostess  was  dis- 
tracted at  this  moment  by  the  entrance  of 
another  guest,  and  Miss  Ruth  stepped  up 
to  the  outskirts  of  the  body  guard  that 
surrounded  George  Armitage.  She  was 
pushed  close  to  him  by  a  gayly  dressed 
girl  who  elbowed  her  way  through  the 
crowd.  The  young  lady  had  an  affected 
manner,  and  as  she  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Armitage  she  remarked  with  effusion,  "  I 
want  you  to  know  that  I  was  one  of  the 
first  worshipers  at  the  shrine  of  "  A  New 
Hampshire  Hillside." 
254 


TWO  AUTHORS 

Miss  Ruth  could  not  help  smiling,  and 
at  the  same  instant  the  young  man  looked 
up,  and  as  his  eyes  met  hers  lie  smiled 
too. 

That  glance  made  her  feel  as  if  he  were 
an  old  friend.  "  He  is  full  of  fun,  like 
Tom,"  she  thought. 

Presently  a  member  of  the  church  sew- 
ing-circle, a  bustling,  elderly  lady  pos- 
sessed of  a  kind  heart  but  little  tact,  was 
struck  with  what  she  conceived  to  be  Miss 
Pennell's  forlorn  position  on  the  outskirts 
of  Paradise. 

"  I  am  sure  two  authors  ought  to  know 
each  other,"  she  said  in  a  high,  strident 
voice.  "  Mr.  Armitage,  let  me  make  you 
acquainted  with  Miss  Pennell.  She  is  our 
poetess,  although  she  may  be  too  modest 
to  mention  it." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  a  colleague," 
he  returned  with  a  friendly  smile. 

"  And  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you  be- 
cause you  look  so  much  like  my  nephew 
Tom." 

"  Do  I  ?  How  jolly !  I  hope  he  is  a 
nice  fellow." 

"  He  is  perfectly  delightful." 
255 


TWO  AUTHORS 

"  He  is  handsome,  I  trust,"  he  inquired 
after  one  or  two  more  questions. 

"  As  I  am  his  aunt,  of  course  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  he  is  handsomer  than 
you  are,"  Miss  Ruth  replied  audaciously, 
for  the  spirit  of  mischief  had  seized  her, 
and  it  almost  seemed  as  if  the  veritable 
Torn  were  standing  before  her.  "  But 
there  is  a  wonderful  likeness,"  she  ad- 
mitted. 

The  gayly  dressed  girl  with  the  affected 
manner  stared  at  Miss  Pennell  with  un- 
affected astonishment.  And  then  a  re- 
markable thing  happened ;  so  marvelous 
indeed  that  Miss  Pennell  could  scarcely 
credit  her  senses.  The  great  author,  who 
had  written  a  book  that  had  moved  thou- 
sands to  tears  and  laughter,  turned  from 
the  group  of  brilliant,  gayly  dressed  girls, 
and  his  whole  interest  centred  on  the  gray- 
haired  old  woman  in  the  shabby  bonnet. 
One  of  the  elements  of  his  power  was  an 
eye  that  could  look  beneath  all  outer  dis- 
guises to  the  soul  itself ;  and  he  had  also 
the  gift  of  quick  sympathy  and  the  ready 
tact  that  set  the  humblest  interlocutor  at 
ease.  He  asked  Miss  Pennell  about  her 
256 


TWO  AUTHORS 

nephew  and  her  home,  and  finally  it  hap- 
pened, she  could  hardly  tell  how,  that  he 
invited  himself  to  come  and  drink  a  cup 
of  tea  with  her  on  the  following  after- 
noon. 

"  You  must  n't  talk  to  me  any  more," 
she  said,  after  the  invitation  had  been 
asked  for  and  received.  "  There  are  ever  so 
many  people  here  who  have  not  seen  you 
yet,  and  some  of  them  have  come  all  the 
way  from  the  summer  hotels  at  Jackson." 

"  Hang  Jackson  !  "  he  exclaimed  under 
his  breath,  and  Miss  Pennell  thought  him 
more  like  Tom  than  ever. 

She  moved  away  relentlessly  notwith- 
standing, and  began  to  talk  to  some  of  the 
members  of  her  church.  She  was  a  favor- 
ite with  them  all,  although  most  of  her 
friends  wished  heartily  that  she  would  buy 
a  new  bonnet.  But  the  bonnet  for  some 
reason  seemed  particularly  suited  to  her 
this  afternoon,  and  Miss  Ruth  was  unusu- 
ally charming,  for  there  is  nothing  so  be- 
coming as  happiness.  She  heartily  enjoyed 
the  occasion  from  beginning  to  end.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  she  had  been  to  a 
reception,  and  she  could  never  understand 
257 


TWO  AUTHORS 

afterwards  why  some  people  called  them 
tiresome,  for  she  thought  this  one  even 
pleasanter  than  the  church  sewing-circle. 
She  was  introduced  to  some  of  the  city 
people,  and  she  found  them  as  agreeable 
and  as  ready  to  talk  as  Mr.  Armitage,  al- 
though, of  course,  they  could  not  have 
quite  the  same  interest  for  her,  as  they 
were  not  authors.  When  it  was  all  over 
she  felt  that  she  had  never  spent  a  plea- 
santer afternoon.  She  walked  as  far  to- 
wards home  as  the  post-office,  where  she 
waited  for  her  neighbor,  Deacon  Scott, 
who  had  promised  to  drive  her  back  when 
he  came  for  the  mail. 

"  I  guess  you  've  had  a  real  good  time, 
for  you  look  kind  of  smilin',''  the  deacon 
observed  as  he  helped  her  into  his  wagon. 

"  Oh,  I  Ve  had  a  beautiful  time.  I  only 
wish  your  wife  had  gone  too." 

"  Wall,  Elizy  was  dretful  afraid  of  doin' 
the  wrong  thing.  And  then  she  had  n't 
had  a  new  bunnit  for  most  three  years, 
and  she  didn't  like  to  go  in  among  all 
them  city  people  in  her  old  duds,  and  she 
was  afraid  if  the  author  saw  her  he  'd  clap 
her  into  a  book." 

258 


TWO  AUTHORS 

"  She  need  n't  have  been  afraid  of 
that,"  said  Miss  Ruth,  with  a  smile.  "  He 
is  n't  that  kind  of  an  author.  He  is  real 
'  folksy,'  and  made  me  think  of  my  nephew 
Tom." 

"  Du  tell !  Wall,  I  never  calculated 
that  Tom  would  be  like  any  author,  or 
any  author  like  Tom.  Look  a'  here,  Miss 
Ruth.  You  ain't  too  proud  to  ride  with 
an  old  feller  like  me,  are  you  ?  I  don't 
look  much  like  one  of  your  city  swells,  and 
a  flour-barrel  at  the  back  of  the  wagon  is 
kind  of  a  curious  companion  for  a  lady 
who  's  be'n  to  a  reception." 

"  Well,  I  guess  when  I  'm  too  proud  to 
ride  with  my  old  friends  I  '11  go  over  to 
Jackson  and  board." 

At  this  point  one  of  the  homeward- 
bound  carriages  with  its  fashionably 
dressed  occupants  drove  past  them.  The 
girls  bowed  to  Miss  Ruth  in  a  friendly 
way,  and  she  returned  the  salutation  with 
a  half-laughing  backward  glance  at  the 
flour-barrel.  There  is  no  situation  in  life 
that  cannot  be  gracefully  met  if  one  has 
natural  ease  and  a  sense  of  humor. 

When  Miss  Pennell  reached  her  little 
259 


TWO  AUTHORS 

house  she  entered  in  and  took  possession 
with  something  of  the  feeling  of  a  prin- 
cess in  a  fairy  tale. 

"  Tell  Eliza  to  come  over  as  soon  as  she 
can,"  was  her  parting  remark  to  the  dea- 
con, but  Eliza  needed  no  invitation ;  she 
had  started  to  "  come  over  "  as  soon  as  she 
saw  the  horse's  head  in  the  distance.  She 
was  a  woman  who  had  once  been  hand- 
some, but  whose  face  bore  the  stamp  of 
hard  work  and  depression. 

"  You  ought  to  have  gone,  Eliza,"  Miss 
Ruth  began  at  once. 

"  Well,  as  I  told  the  deacon,  I  had  too 
much  pride.  I  don't  mean  that  you  did 
wrong  to  go,"  she  hastened  to  add,  "  for 
you  've  traveled  and  been  about,  and  then 
somehow  you  always  look  as  if  you  be- 
longed wherever  you  are,  just  as  the  flow- 
ers do,  but  it 's  different  with  me.  I  'm 
not  a  flower.  I  guess  I  'm  a  vegetable, 
and  a  very  common  sort  at  that.  I  should 
have  looked  like  a  fool,  and  I  was  n't 
going  there  to  be  a  show  for  others  to 
laugh  at,  and  to  have  'em  say,  '  Look  at 
Mrs.  Deacon  Scott !  Does  n't  she  look 
as  if  she  'd  come  out  of  the  ark  ! '  No,  I 
260 


TWO   AUTHORS 

may  be  lacking  in  some  things,  but  I  've 
a  proper  pride." 

"  But,  Eliza,  no  one  thought  of  laugh- 
ing. They  were  all  as  kind  as  possible. 
Several  of  the  sewing-circle  were  there. 
We  did  n't  go  to  be  seen,  but  to  see.  And 
Mr.  Armitage  was  so  nice.  By  the  way, 
he  is  coming  here  to  see  me  to-morrow 
afternoon." 

"  I  want  to  know  !  " 

"  He  really  is.  He  proposed  it  himself. 
And  if  you  would  like  to  meet  him,"  Miss 
Ruth  added  generously,  "you  can  come 
over  any  time  between  four  and  five." 

Mrs.  Scott  shook  her  head  in  a  decided 
way. 

"  I  can  see  him  all  I  want  to  from  the 
window,"  she  remarked.  "  I  don't  feel 
any  call  to  converse  with  authors ;  al- 
though I  should  like  him  to  know  how  I 
admire  his  book.  You  might  tell  him  that 
Mrs.  Deacon  Scott  sat  up  until  eleven 
o'clock  at  night  to  finish  it.  Perhaps  it 
would  please  him  to  know  that." 

"  I  am  sure  it  would,"  said  Miss  Ruth 
warmly. 

"  Now  tell  me  what  kind  of  sleeves  the 
261 


TWO  AUTHORS 

ladies  were  wearing,"  said  Mrs.  Scott, 
"  and  how  the  house  was  fixed  and  what 
you  had  to  eat." 

When  Miss  Pennell  had  satisfied  her 
neighbor  on  these  points  Mrs.  Scott  rose 
reluctantly. 

"  Well,  I  must  go  home  now  and  get 
the  deacon's  supper,"  she  remarked.  "He 
is  n't  a  mite  particular,  the  deacon,  but  I 
do  like  to  give  him  something  hot.  It 's 
as  good  as  a  play  to  hear  your  account  of 
the  reception,  Ruth,  and  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter than  being  there  myself." 

Miss  Ruth,  however,  could  not  agree  to 
this,  and  she  was  left  with  a  heartache  as 
her  friend  closed  the  door.  It  seemed  so 
sad  to  think  of  all  the  people  in  the  world, 
who,  simply  through  fault  of  tempera- 
ment, missed  the  happiness  that  might  be 
theirs.  "  Perhaps,  though,"  she  reflected 
presently,  "  Eliza  '11  get  more  pleasure 
looking  at  him  through  the  window  than 
she  would  by  seeing  him,  being  the  kind 
she  is."  It  further  occurred  to  her  it  was 
even  possible  that  Eliza  might  be  sorry 
for  her  sometimes,  thinking  of  her  as  a 
lonely  old  maid.  She  threw  back  her 
262 


TWO  AUTHORS 

head  and  laughed  merrily  at  the  idea  of 
being  pitied  for  so  futile  a  reason.  She 
glanced  around  her  pleasant  room,  and 
had  a  feeling  of  pride  and  satisfaction  in 
her  cottage  being  all  her  own  to  do  with 
as  she  liked. 

Miss  Pennell  was  in  a  flutter  of  excite- 
ment throughout  the  evening.  She  could 
not  decide  which  teacup  should  have  the 
honor  of  being  at  the  service  of  George 
Armitage,  and  finally  she  had  to  call  in 
the  assistance  of  Harriet,  the  rosy-cheeked 
maid.  They  went  together  to  the  corner 
cupboard  where  Miss  Pennell's  best  china 
was  set  forth  in  dainty  array. 

Harriet  at  once  selected  a  gay  teacup 
adorned  with  tiny  pink-and-blue  parrots 
sitting  under  a  wonderful  bower  of  rain- 
bow-colored flowers  against  a  white  and 
gilt  background. 

"  I  like  this  one  best,"  she  announced, 
with  the  decision  of  youth. 

"  My  brother  brought  it  from  China," 
Miss  Pennell  explained,  "  but  somehow  I 
have  a  fancy  that  Mr.  Armitage  will  pre- 
fer one  of  my  older  cups,"  and  she  glanced 
from  the  sedate  blue  Canton  china  that 
263 


TWO  AUTHORS 

had  belonged  to  her  father's  mother  to  the 
fragile  white-and-gilt  tea-service  that  could 
boast  an  equally  long  pedigree  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house. 

"  If  he  's  young  he  '11  like  the  bright 
one  best,"  said  Harriet  confidently. 

Miss  Ruth  yielded  somewhat  doubtfully 
and  found  it  a  comfort  to  have  the  impor- 
tant matter  settled.  When  she  was  ready 
to  go  upstairs  for  the  night  she  stepped 
out  of  doors  for  a  final  look  at  the  shad- 
owy mountains  lying  vague  and  mysteri- 
ous in  the  moonlight.  But,  alas !  What 
had  happened  to  the  moon  ? 

"  Harriet,"  she  said  in  a  subdued  voice, 
"  come  here  a  minute." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Euth." 

"  Just  look  at  those  clouds  and  tell  me 
what  sort  of  weather  we  are  likely  to  have 
to-morrow." 

"I  am  sure  we  are  going  to  have  a 
northeaster,  ma'am,"  Harriet  answered 
uncompromisingly. 

Indeed,  it  was  only  a  few  moments  be- 
fore the  storm  began.  A  wild  night  fol- 
lowed, and  whenever  Miss  Pennell  was 
wakened  by  a  gust  more  furious  than  the 
264 


TWO  AUTHORS 

last  she  could  hear  the  swish  of  the  rain 
against  her  windows.  Her  only  hope  was 
that  the  flood-gates  would  be  emptied  be- 
fore the  afternoon.  The  next  morning, 
however,  there  were  no  signs  of  any  abate- 
ment of  the  storm.  Every  mountain  had 
vanished,  and  the  world  was  a  monotonous 
plane  swathed  in  gray  mist.  The  down- 
pour did  not  begin  to  slacken  until  four 
o'clock,  the  hour  at  which  her  guest  was 
to  have  come,  and  even  then  it  was  raining 
steadily. 

"  Well,"  Miss  Pennell  thought  with  a 
patient  little  sigh,  "  I  suppose  it  is  n't  for 
me  to  have  so  much  happiness.  Yesterday 
ought  to  have  been  enough.  But  I  should 
have  liked  to  have  him  in  this  room  just 
once !  It  would  have  seemed  so  much 
more  furnished  afterwards;  there  is  no 
chance  of  his  coming  in  such  a  storm, 
however,  and  he  goes  away  early  to-mor- 
row morning." 

At  twenty  minutes  past  four  Miss  Ruth 
resolutely  took  up  a  book.  "  I  had  better 
move  away  from  that  window  and  put  my 
mind  on  other  things,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Even  if  he  wanted  to  come,  Mrs.  War- 
265 


TWO  AUTHORS 

ren  wouldn't  let  him  go  out  in  this  rain 
just  to  see  an  old  woman  like  me ;  and  oi 
course,  now  I  'm  not  there,  his  mind  is  all 
taken  up  with  the  next  person.  It 's  per- 
fectly natural,  and  perhaps  he  wouldn't 
have  come  anyway ;  and  if  it  had  been 
pleasant  and  he  hadn't  come  I  should 
have  been  dreadfully  disappointed,  and  so 
the  rain  may  be  a  blessing  in  disguise." 

Just  then  she  heard  the  sound  of  ap- 
proaching wheels.  "  No,  I  won't  be  such 
a  fool  as  to  go  to  the  window  again.  It 
may  be  only  Deacon  Scott  driving  by." 

A  moment  later  there  came  a  quick  ring 
at  the  door.  "It  is  probably  the  deacon 
or  Eliza  coming  on  some  errand,"  she  said 
to  herself  disingenuously,  well  knowing 
that  they  never  rang. 

"  Mr.  Armitage !  "  she  exclaimed  joy- 
fully, as  she  opened  the  door,  "  I  never 
expected  you  in  such  a  storm." 

"  Does  '  Tom '  mind  a  trifle  of  this 
sort?" 

"  Not  if  he  wants  to  do  a  thing  very 
much ;  when  he  does  n't,  I  've  known  the 
gentlest  kind  of  shower  to  keep  him  at 
home." 

266 


TWO  AUTHORS 

"  You  are  right  in  saying  that  Tom  and 
I  are  alike,"  he  acknowledged,  with  a  boy- 
ish laugh. 

"  Give  me  your  mackintosh  and  um- 
brella. I  hope  you  won't  take  cold.  I 
shall  never  forgive  myself  if  you  do.  You 
must  come  right  in  and  get  dry." 

"  What  a  cosy  room  !  "  he  said,  as  he 
followed  her  into  the  parlor. 

A  bright  fire  was  burning  in  the  fire- 
place, flanked  by  brass  andirons  and  an 
old-fashioned  twisted  brass  fender.  There 
was  a  large  stand  of  plants  at  one  of 
the  south  windows,  and  there  were  photo- 
graphs, good  and  bad,  against  the  cheerful 
yellow  walls,  and  bookshelves  filled  with 
well-worn  volumes.  The  room  had  individ- 
uality, like  its  owner,  and  a  certain  fresh 
flavor  of  the  country. 

George  Armitage  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  fire,  his  tall  figure  thrown  out  in 
strong  relief  against  the  ruddy  back- 
ground, and  as  he  talked  genially,  his 
eyes  rested  with  pleasure  on  the  sympa- 
thetic face  of  his  hostess. 

"You  are  like  Tom!"  she  could  not 
help  exclaiming. 

267 


TWO  AUTHORS 

"You  must  show  me  his  picture,"  he 
entreated,  "  for  I  want  to  have  some  idea 
how  I  look." 

"  Mr.  Armitage,  it  is  very  rash  of  you 
to  start  me  on  the  subject  of  my  nephew, 
and  as  for  his  picture,  I  have  a  whole  gal- 
lery of  them,  beginning  when  he  was  a 
baby  and  coming  down  to  three  years  ago. 
Would  you  like  to  see  the  whole  collec- 
tion ?  "  she  inquired  mischievously,  "  or 
will  a  sample  do  ?  " 

"  All.     Nothing  less  will  satisfy  me." 

She  brought  out  her  well-filled  album 
and  showed  him  Tom  in  long  clothes,  Tom 
in  girl's  dresses  and  in  knickerbockers, 
and  so  on  through  a  long  succession  of 
phases  until  she  came  to  Tom  at  twenty- 
four.  After  a  time  they  left  this  engross- 
ing subject,  and  discussed  photographs  in 
general,  and  whether  they  gave  a  fair  im- 
pression of  the  individual,  and  from  this 
they  went  on  to  consider  how  much  of  the 
true  inwardness  of  character  is  shown  by 
a  face. 

"There  are  some  people,"  said  Miss 
Pennell, "  who  have  beautiful  natures  whose 
bodies  seem  a  perfect  home  for  their  souls, 
268 


TWO  AUTHORS 

but  there  are  others  who  are  equally  fine 
whose  faces  are  like  ugly  masks.  Once  in 
a  while  you  get  a  glimpse  of  the  lovely 
spirit  by  means  of  a  rare  smile,  or  a 
glance  from  the  eyes,  but  I  am  always 
sorry  for  such  people.  I  feel  as  if  they 
were  like  the  unfortunate  princes  in  the 
fairy-tales  who  have  been  imprisoned  by 
some  malicious  spirit.  You  authors  are 
able  to  get  at  the  real  person,  and  the  rea- 
son I  like  '  A  New  Hampshire  Hillside  ' 
is  because  you  show  the  good  there  is 
under  a  rough  exterior,  and  the  happiness 
that  can  come  into  the  humblest  lives. 
There,  I  did  not  mean  to  talk  to  you 
about  your  book,  for  I  know  you  must  be 
very  tired  of  that  subject." 

"  I  am  never  tired  of  such  praise  as 
yours.  But,  Miss  Pennell,  they  tell  me 
you  write.  I  want  to  see  what  you  have 
done." 

"  I  only  pretend  to  write.  I  can't  really 
do  it.  I  had  two  little  stories  printed  in 
a  newspaper  long,  long  ago,  when  I  was 
a  girl,  and  five  or  six  poems  that  are  not 
poems  ;  but  I  've  been  too  wise  to  try  to 
have  them  printed  lately." 
269 


TWO  AUTHORS 

"  I  should  like  to  see  them  just  the 
same." 

And  so  Miss  Pennell  brought  out  her 
old  scrap-book,  for  it  was  well-nigh  impos- 
sible to  refuse  this  persuasive  young  man 
anything  he  asked. 

"  They  are  very  bad,"  she  said,  shaking 
her  head.  "  Once  I  used  to  think  that  I 
could  write,  but  that  was  when  I  was  a 
foolish  girl." 

"  If  they  are  like  you  "  —  he  began,  and 
then  paused. 

They  sat  there  together  in  friendly  si- 
lence, the  man  of  the  world  who,  young  as 
he  was,  had  already  made  an  enviable 
reputation,  and  the  woman  who  had  al- 
ways lived  out  of  the  world  and  had  grown 
old  without  winning  the  least  shadow  of 
fame.  The  young  man  turned  the  yellow 
leaves  of  the  scrap-book  with  a  gentle 
touch,  as  if  he  found  more  there  than  was 
legible  to  the  eye. 

At  last  he  looked  up.  "  They  are  not 
very  good,"  he  said. 

His  voice  was  so  friendly,  that  it  took 
all  the  sting  out  of  the  words.  It  was  if 
he  had  said,  "  You  are  right,  but  it  does  n't 
270 


TWO  AUTHORS 

matter.  I  like  you  just  as  much  as  if  you 
had  talent.  What  we  call  talent  is  of  very 
little  consequence  anyway." 

"  I  used  to  care  so  for  it  when  I  was 
young,"  she  murmured,  "  but  now  I  don't 
care  at  all.  I  simply  enjoy  what  other 
people  can  do.  And  yet  it  makes  me 
happy  to  scribble  bad  verses,  because  it 
teaches  me  to  see  nature  with  new  eyes. 
I  am  glad  I  have  tried,  for  failing  has 
taught  me  to  appreciate  the  best." 

"  You  seem  very  happy,"  he  said 
thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  I  am." 

"  Are  n't  you  ever  lonely  here  in  win- 
ter?" 

"No.  It  is  even  more  beautiful  than 
it  is  at  this  season,  for  the  mountains  are 
covered  with  snow,  and  so  are  the  pines 
and  hemlocks,  and  there  is  such  fresh- 
ness and  crispness  in  the  air.  Besides, 
in  the  winter  we  have  more  time  to  be 
sociable,  and  I  read  a  great  deal,  and  I 
get  letters  twice  a  week  from  my  people 
in  Illinois.  Then  there  is  July  to  look 
forward  to  —  when  I  shall  see  them 
again." 

271 


TWO  AUTHORS 

"  Do  you  never  spend  the  winter  with 
them?" 

"  I  spent  one  winter  there,  but  although 
they  were  very  kind,  it  is  hard  to  adjust 
one's  self  to  the  ways  of  other  people  after 
living  all  alone  in  a  whole  house ;  and 
Illinois  is  so  flat ;  I  was  homesick  for  my 
mountains." 

Mr.  Armitage  went  over  to  the  win- 
dow,  and  stood  watching  the  driving  mist 
which  was  beginning  to  roll  away  from 
the  hills.  "  I  don't  wonder  you  like  your 
view,"  said  he. 

"  Is  n't  it  grand  ?  I  am  so  glad  it  is 
showing  itself  to  you  in  part.  There  is 
always  something  new  to  be  seen  from 
these  windows.  It  is  like  reading  an  in- 
teresting book  without  an  end.  Do  you 
wonder  I  am  never  lonely?  And  yet  I 
used  to  be  lonely  and  discontented  when  I 
was  a  girl.  I  don't  think  scenery  is  so 
satisfying  when  you  are  young.  It  is 
strange  we  are  so  seldom  contented  when 
we  have  the  most  to  enjoy.  I  am  always 
glad,"  she  added  impulsively,  "when  I 
come  across  some  one  like  you  who  has 
success  and  happiness  early ;  for  to  have 
272 


TWO  AUTHORS 

youth   and  all    the    other  good  gifts  to- 
gether is  a  beautiful  thing." 

His  face  changed.  "  I  am  not  happy," 
he  confessed.  "  I  should  be  very  glad  if 
I  could  enjoy  life  as  you  can.  Of  course 
I  don't  mean  that  I  don't  get  a  lot  of 
surface  pleasure  out  of  it,  but  when  there 
is  a  very  hard  thing  in  your  life  that  you 
have  got  to  bear,  nothing  else  seems  any 
good." 

Miss  Pennell  was  the  sort  of  woman  to 
whom  secrets  are  told,  and  she  knew  that 
a  word  from  her  would  encourage  this 
young  man  to  give  her  his  whole  story, 
but  she  had  an  instinctive  shrinking  from 
receiving  confidences,  and  so  she  merely 
said,  "  I  am  so  sorry,"  and  went  to  summon 
Harriet  to  bring  in  the  tea.  The  young 
girl  came  at  once,  bristling  with  impor- 
tance from  her  long  brown  braids  to  her 
shiny,  squeaking  new  shoes.  But,  alas  for 
the  little  maid !  Mr.  Armitage  sipped  his 
tea  not  only  in  utter  unconsciousness  of 
her,  but  likewise  of  the  teacup  ! 

"  I  hope  the  hard  thing  in  your  life  can 
be  changed  some  time,"  Miss  Ruth  said 
softly,  after  Harriet  had  left  the  room. 
273 


TWO  AUTHORS 

"  There  are  some  things  that  can  never 
be  changed." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  There  is  death ;  and 
sometimes  we  lose  our  friends  in  other 
ways,  which  is  harder  still.  But  we  can 
change.  We  can  live  through  things 
and  learn  to  bear  them.  Sometimes  it 
seems  as  if  a  great  tidal  wave  had  swept 
everything  before  it,  and  changed  the 
whole  world,  but  after  a  time  there  comes — 
peace.  And  when  we  have  reached  this 
point,  in  one  way  it  does  n't  so  much  mat- 
ter what  happens  to  ourselves,  for  we  are  so 
small  a  part  of  the  great  scheme ;  and  in  an- 
other way  we  feel  that  it  matters  infinitely 
more,  and  that  we  must  do  our  share  with- 
out shirking,  to  help  on  the  rest.  And 
when  we  get  to  be  old,  we  can  look  back 
and  see  how  the  trials  take  their  part  in 
the  whole  plan." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  time  after 
this,  for  shyness  overtook  them,  and  pre- 
sently Miss  Pennell  changed  the  subject 
and  talked  of  commonplace  things. 

"Here  comes  my  carriage,"  George 
Armitage  said  at  last.  He  had  resumed 
his  usual  cheerful  manner,  and  nodded 
274 


TWO  AUTHORS 

brightly  to  Mrs.  Warren,  who  had  driven 
over  for  him  herself.  The  rain  had 
stopped  in  the  valley,  but  it  was  still 
showering  on  the  mountains,  and  their 
summits  were  veiled  in  a  haze  of  golden 
mist,  behind  which  the  sun  seemed  strug- 
gling to  come  through.  Miss  Ruth  looked 
at  the  golden  glory  and  thought  it  a  fitting 
ending  to  her  happy  day. 

"  I  have  had  such  a  beautiful  time,"  she 
said,  as  she  gave  Mr.  Armitage's  hand  a 
warm  pressure.  "  You  have  given  me 
great  pleasure.  Nothing  has  ever  hap- 
pened to  me  so  like  a  story  book.  I  have 
always  wanted  to  know  a  real  author,  and 
now  I  have  seen  my  Carcassonne." 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  it  is  a  very 
poor  kind  of  Carcassonne  so  long  as  I  am 
like  Tom,"  he  returned. 

After  he  had  gone  she  sat  gazing  at  the 
ever  clearing  western  sky,  with  a  smile  on 
her  lips.  "  I  have  had  such  a  happy  day  ! 
Such  a  happy  day ! "  she  repeated  over 
and  over  again.  And  then  her  face  grew 
grave.  "Poor  boy!  I  wonder  what  is 
troubling  him  !  "  she  thought.  Her  wo- 
man's curiosity  awoke,  and  for  the  moment 
275 


TWO  AUTHORS 

overcame  her  principles.  "Of  course  it 
was  right  for  me  not  to  let  him  tell  me," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  It  was  only  a  mo- 
mentary impulse,  and  he  would  have  been 
sorry  afterwards  that  he  had  confided  in  a 
stranger.  But  how  I  should  like  to  know 
his  story !  And  now  I  never  shall." 
276 


£J)c  itrticrsiDc  press 

CAMBRIDGE,  MASSACHUSETTS,  U.  S.  A. 

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